THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


JAMES  J.  MC  BRIDE 


ii» 


fiwvW  Ri;r)»i^- 


"BUT  AFTER  ONE  GLANCE  JOAN  LOOKEU  STEADILY  AWAY  ACROSS 

THE  STEEL-GREY  SEA." 


ITbc  Xibrari^  of  popular  ^'iction 
no,  25 


Joan  of  the 

Sword  Hand 


BY 


S.  R,  CROCKETT 

\trTHOR  OF  "The  Raiders,"  "The  Lilac  Sunbonnet,' 
"  loNE  March,"  etc. 

FRONTISPIECE 


NEW  YORK 

THE   AMERICAN   NEWS   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'   AGENTS 


Copyright^  i8g8,  igoo 
By  S.  R.  Crockett 


Contents 


er 


Chapter 
I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XL 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 


Pag* 

The  Hall  of  the  Guard i 

The  Baiting  of  the  Sparhawk 9 

Joan  Draws  First  Blood 14 

The  Cozening  of  the  Ambassador       ...  21 

JOHANN    THE    SECRETARY *6 

An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 35 

H.R.H.  The  Princess  Impetuosity  ....  46 

JoHANN  IN  the  Summer  Palace 5a 

The  Rose  Garden 60 

Prince  Wasp ^5 

The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret  ...  72 

Joan  Forswears  the  Sword 82 

The  Sparhawk  in  the  Toils 87 

At  the  High  Altar 94 

What  Joan  Left  Behind 105 

Prince  Wasp's  Compact     .     .     .     ,     .     .     .  112 

Woman's  Wilfulness 119 

Captains  Boris  and  Jorian  Promote  Peace    .  129 

Joan  Stands  within  Her  Danger     ....  136 

The  Chief  Captain's  Treachery     ....  14* 

Isle  Rugen 151 

The  House  on  the  Dunes 156 

The  Face  that  looked  into  Joan's     .     .     .  163 

The  Secret  of  Theresa  Von  Lynar    .     .     .  170 


Contents 

Chapter  Pag* 

XXV.  Borne  on  the  Great  Wave 177 

XXVI.  The  Girl  beneath  the  Lamp      .     .     ,     .  183 

XXVII.  Wife  and  Priest 190 

XXVIII.  The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg     .     .  198 

XXIX.  The  Greeting  of  the  Princess  Margaret  209 

XXX.  Love's  Clear  Eye      .     .     .     ,     .     .     .     .  216 

XXXI.  The  Royal  Minx 224 

XXXII.  The  Princess  Margaret  is  in  a  Hurry   .  233 

XXXIII.  A  Wedding  Without  a  Bridegroom        .  239 

XXXIV.  Little  Johannes  Rode -244 

XXXV.  A  Perilous  Honeymoon 252 

XXXVL  The  Black  Death 260 

XXXVII.  The  Dropping  of  a  Cloak 270 

XXXVIII.  The  Return  of  the  Bride 277 

XXXIX.  Prince  Wasp  Stings 284 

XL.  The  Ukraine  Cross        293 

XLI.  The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife      .     .     .  303 

XLII.  Theresa  Keeps  Troth 315 

XLIII.  The  Wordless  Man  Takes  a  Prisoner    .  327 

XLIV.  To  the  Rescue 335 

XLV.  The  Truth-speaking  of  Boris  and  Jorian  342 

XLVI.  The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 348 

XLVII.  The  Broken  Bond 359 


vi 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 


^ 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    HALL    OF    THE    GUARD 

LOUD  rang  the  laughter  in  the  hall  of  the  men-at- 
arms  at  Castle  Kernsberg.  There  had  come  an 
embassy  from  the  hereditary  Princess  of  Plassenburg,  re- 
cently established  upon  the  throne  of  her  ancestors,  to 
the  Duchess  Joan  of  Hohenstein,  ruler  of  that  cluster  of 
hill  statelets  which  is  called  collectively  Masurenland, 
and  which  includes,  besides  Hohenstein,  the  original 
Eagle's   Eyrie,   Kernswald   also,  and   Marienfeld, 

Above,  in  the  hall  of  audience,  the  ambassador,  one 
Leopold  von  Dessauer,  a  great  lord  and  most  learned 
councillor  of  state,  sat  alone  with  the  young  Duchess. 
They  were  eating  of  the  baked  meats  and  drinking  the 
good  Rhenish  up  there.  But,  after  all,  it  was  much 
merrier  down  below  with  Werner  von  Orseln,  Alt 
Pikker,  Peter  Balta,  and  John  of  Thorn,  though  what 
they  ate  was  mostly  but  plain  ox-flesh,  and  their  drink 
the  strong  ale  native  to  the  hill  lands,  which  is  called 
Wendish  mead. 

"  Get  you  down,  Captains  Jorlan  and  Boris,"  the 
young  Duchess  had  commanded,  looking  very  handsome 
and  haughty  in  the  pride  of  her  twenty-one  years,  her 
eight  strong  castles,  and  her  two  thousand  men  ready  to 
rise  at  her  word ;  "  down  to  the  hall,  where  my  officers 

I  K 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

send  round  the  wassail.  If  they  do  not  treat  you  well, 
e'en  come  up  and  tell  it  to  me." 

"Good!"  had  responded  the  two  soldiers  of  the  Prin- 
cess of  Plassenburg,  turning  them  about  as  if  they  had 
been  hinged  on  the  same  stick,  and  starting  forward  with 
precisely  the  same  stiff  hitch  from  the  halt,  they  made 
for  the  door. 

"  But  stay,"  Joan  of  Hohenstein  had  said,  ere  they 
reached  it,  "  here  are  a  couple  of  rings.  My  father  left 
me  one  or  two  such.  Fit  them  upon  your  fingers  and 
when  you  return  give  them  to  the  maidens  of  your 
choice.  Is  there  by  chance  such  a  one,  Captain  Jorian, 
-eft  behind  you  at  Plassenburg  ?  " 

"Aye,  madam,"  said  Jorian,  directing  his  left  eye,  as 
he  stood  at  attention,  a  little  slantwise  at  his  companion. 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Gretchen  is  her  name,"  quoth  the  soldier. 

*' And  yours.  Captain  Boris  ?  " 

The  second  automaton,  a  little  slower  of  tongue  than 
his  companion,  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Speak  up,"  said  his  comrade,  in  an  undergrow? ; 
«  say  '  Katrin.'  " 

"  Katrin  !  "  thundered  Captain  Boris,  with  bluff 
apparent  honesty. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  Duchess  Joan ;  "  I  think  no 
less  of  a  sturdy  soldier  for  being  somewhat  shamefaced 
as  to  the  name  of  his  sweetheart.  Here  is  a  ring  apiece 
which  will  not  shame  your  maidens  in  far  Plassenburg, 
as  you  walk  with  them  under  the  lime-trees,  or  buy  rib- 
bons for  them  in  the  booths  about  the  Minster  walls." 

The  donor  looked  at  the  rings  again.  She  espied  the 
letters  of  a  posy  upon  them. 

"  Ha  !  "  she  cried,  "  Captain  Boris,  what  said  you  was 
the  name  of  your  betrothed  .?  " 

2 


The  Hall  ot  the  Guard 

"  Good  Lord !  "  muttered  Boris  lowly  to  himself, 
"  did  I    not  tell  the  woman  even  now  ?  —  Gretchen  !  " 

''  Hut,  you  fool !  "  Jorian's  undergrowl  came  to  his 
ear,  "  Katrin  —  not  Gretchen  ;   Gretchen  is  mine." 

"  I  mean  Katrin,  my  Lady  Duchess,"  said  Boris,  put- 
ting a  bold  face  on  the  mistake. 

The  young  mistress  of  the  castle  smiled.  "Thou  art 
a  strange  lover,"  she  said,  "  thus  to  forget  the  name  of 
thy  mistress.  But  here  is  a  ring  with  a  K  writ  large 
upon  it,  which  will  serve  for  thy  Katherina.  And  here, 
Captain  Jorian,  is  one  with  a  G  scrolled  in  Gothic, 
which  thou  wilt  doubtless  place  with  pride  upon  the  fin- 
ger of  Mistress  Gretchen  among  the  rose-gardens  of 
Plassenburg." 

"Good!  "  said  Jorian  and  Boris,  making  their  bows 
together ;   "  we  thank  your  most  gracious  highness." 

"  Back  out,  you  hulking  brute  !  "  the  undertone  came 
again  from  Jorian  ;  "  she  will  be  asking  us  for  their  sur- 
names if  we  bide  a  moment  longer.  Now  then,  we  are 
safe  through  the  door,  right  about,  Boris,  and  thank 
Heaven  she  had  not  time  for  another  question,  or  we 
were  men  undone  !  " 

And  with  their  rings  upon  their  little  fingers  the  two 
burly  captains  went  down  the  narrow  stair  of  Castle 
Kernsberg,  nudging  each  other  jovially  in  the  dark 
places  as  if  they  had  again  been  men-at-arms  and  no 
captains,  as  in  the  old  days  before  the  death  of  Karl  the 
Usurper  and  the  coming  back  of  the  legitimate  Princess 
Helene  into  her  rights. 

Being  arrived  at  the  hall  beneath  they  soon  found 
themselves  the  centre  of  a  hospitable  circle.  Gruff^, 
bearded  Wendish  men  were  these  officers  of  the  young 
Duchess  ;  not  a  butterfly  youngling  nor  a  courtly  carpet 
knight  among  them,  but  men  tanned  like  shipmen  of  the 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Baltic,  soldiers  mostly  who  had,  served  under  her  father 
Henry,  foraging  upon  occasion  as  far  as  the  Mark  in 
one  direction  and  into  Bor-Russia  in  the  other,  men 
grounded  and  compacted  after  the  hearts  of  Jorian  and 
Boris. 

It  was  small  wonder  that  among  such  congenial  soci- 
ety the  ex-men-at-arms  found  themselves  presently  verv 
much  at  home.  Scarcely  were  they  seated  when  Jorian 
began  to  brag  of  the  gift  the  Duchess  had  given  him  for 
the  maiden  of  his  troth. 

"And  Boris  here,  that  hulking  cobold,  that  Hans 
Klapper  upon  the  housetops,  had  well-nigh  spoiled  the 
jest ;  for  when  her  ladyship  asked  him  a  second  time  in 
her  sweet  voice  for  the  name  of  his  '  betrothed,'  he 
must  needs  lay  his  tongue  to  '  Gretchen,'  instead  of 
'  Katrin,'  as  he  had  done  at  the  first  !  " 

Then  all  suddenly  the  bearded,  burly  officers  of  the 
Duchess  Joan  looked  at  each  other  with  a  little  scared 
expression  on  their  faces,  through  which  gradually 
glimmered  up  a  certain  grim  amusement.  Werner  von 
Orseln,  the  eldest  and  gravest  of  all,  glanced  round  the 
full  circle  of  his  mess.  Then  he  looked  back  at  the 
two  captains  of  the  embassy  guard  of  Plassenburg  with 
a  pitying  glance. 

"And  you  lied  about  your  sweethearts  to  the  Duchess 
Joan  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Yes  !  I  trow  yes,"  quoth  Jorian  jovially. 
"  Wine  may  be  dear,  but  this  ring  will  pay  the  sweets 
of  many  a  night  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha  !  It  will,  will  it  ?  "  said  Werner,  the  chief 
captain,  grimly. 

"  Aye,  truly,"  echoed  Boris,  the  mead  beginning  to 
work  nuttily  under  his  steel  cap, "  when  we  melt  this  — 
ha,  ha  !  —  Katrin's  jewel,  we'll  quaft'  many   a  beaker 

4 


The  Hall  of  the  Guard 

The  Rhenish  shall  flow.  And  Peg  and  Moll  and  Elisa- 
bet  shall  be  there  —  yes,  and  many  a  good  fellow  —  " 

"  Shut  the  door  !  "  quoth  Werner,  the  chief  captain, 
at  this  point.     "Sit  down,  gentlemen  !  " 

But  Jorian  and  Boris  were  not  to  be  so  easily  turned 
aside. 

"  Call  in  the  ale-drawer  —  the  tapster,  the  pottler,  the 
over-cellarer,  whatever  you  call  him.  For  we  would 
have  more  of  his  vintage.  Why,  is  this  a  night  of 
jewels,  and  shall  we  not  melt  them  ?  W^e  may  chance 
to  get  another  for  a  second  mouthful  of  lies  to-morrow 
morning.  A  good  duchess  as  ever  was  —  a  soft  princess, 
a  princess  most  gullible  is  this  of  yours,  gentlemen  of 
the  Eagle's  Nest,  kerns  of  Kernsdorf !  " 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Werner  yet  more  gravely.  "  Cap- 
tains Jorian  and  Boris,  you  do  not  seem  to  know  that 
you  are  no  longer  in  Plassenburg.  The  broom  bush 
does  not  keep  the  cow  betwixt  Kernsberg  and  Hohen- 
stein.  Here  are  no  tables  of  Karl  the  Miller's  Son  to 
hamper  our  liege  mistress.  Do  you  know  that  you  have 
lied  to  her  and  made  a  jest  of  it  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  cried  Jorian,  holding  his  ring  high  ;  *'  a  sweet, 
easy  maid,  this  of  yours,  as  ever  was  cozened.  x'\n  easy 
service  yours  must  be.  Lord!  I  could  feather  my  nest 
well  inside  a  year  —  one  short  year  with  such  a  mistress 
would  do  the  business.  Why,  she  will  believe  any- 
thing!  " 

"  So,"  said  Werner  von  Orseln  grimly,  "  you  think 
so,  do  you.  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,  of  the  embassy 
stafF.?     Well,  listen  I  " 

He  spoke  very  slowly,  leaning  towards  them  and 
punctuating  his  meaning  upon  the  palm  of  his  left  hand 
with  the  fingers  of  his  right.  "  If  I,  Werner  of  Orseln, 
were  now  to  walk  upstairs,  and  In   so  many  words  tell 

5 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

my  lady,  '  the  sweet,  easy  princess,'  as  you  name  her, 
Joan  of  the  Sword,  as  we  are  proud  —  " 

"  Joan  of  the  Sword!      Hoch  /  " 

The  men-at-arms  at  the  lower  table,  the  bearded  cap- 
tains at  the  high  board,  the  very  page  boys  lounging  in 
the  niches,  rose  to  their  feet  at  the  very  name,  pro- 
nounced in  a  voice  of  thunder-pride  by  Chief  Captain 
Werner. 

"  Joan  of  the  Sword  !  Hoch  !  Hent  yourselves  up. 
Wends  !  Up,  Plassenburg  !  Joan  of  the  Sword  !  Our 
Lady  Joan  !      Hoch,  and  three  times  hoch  !  " 

The  hurrahs  ran  round  the  oak-panelled  hall.  Jorian 
and  Boris  looked  at  each  other  with  surprise,  but  they 
were  stout  fellows,  and  took  matters,  even  when  mos'' 
serious,  pretty  much  as  they  came. 

"  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  on  behalf  of  my  lady,  in 
whose  name  I  command  here,"  said  Werner,  bowing 
ceremoniously  to  all  around,  while  the  others  settled 
themselves  to  listen.  "  Now,  worthy  soldiers  of  Plassen- 
burg," he  went  on,  "  be  it  known  to  you  that  if  (to 
suppose  a  case  which  will  not  happen)  I  were  to  tell 
our  Lady  Joan  what  you  have  confessed  to  us  here  and 
boasted  of — that  you  lied  and  double  lied  to  her — I 
lay  my  life  and  the  lives  of  these  good  fellows  that  the 
pair  of  you  would  be  aswing  from  the  corner  gallery  of 
the  Lion's  Tower  in  something  under  five  minutes." 

"  Aye,  and  a  good  deed  it  were,  too  !  "  chorussed  the 
round  table  of  the  guard  hall.  "  Heaven  send  it,  the 
jackanapes  !     To  rail  at  our  Duchess  !  " 

Jorian  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Up,  Boris  !  "  he  cried ; 
"  no  Bor-Russian,  no  kern  of  Hohenstein  that  ever 
lived,  shall  overcrow  a  captain  of  the  armies  of  Plassen- 
burg and  a  soldier  of  the  Princess  Helene — Heaven 
bless  her !     Take  your  ring  in  your  hand,  Boris,  for  we 

6 


The  Hall  of  the  Guard 

will  go  up  straightway,  you  and  I.  And  we  will  tell  the 
Lady  Duchess  Joan  that,  having  no  sweetheart  of  legal 
standing,  and  no  desire  for  any,  we  choused  her  into  the 
belief  that  we  would  bestow  her  rings  upon  our  betrothed 
in  the  rose-gardens  of  Plassenburg.  Then  will  we  see 
if  indeed  we  shall  be  aswing  in  five  minutes.  Ready, 
Boris  ?  " 

"Aye,  thrice  ready,  Jorian  !  " 

"  About,  then  !      Quick  march  !  " 

A  great  noise  of  clapping  rose  all  round  the  hall  as 
the  two  stout  soldiers  set  themselves  to  march  up  the 
staircase  by  which  they  had  just  descended. 

"  Stand  to  the  doors  !  "  cried  Werner,  the  chief  cap- 
tain ;  "  do  not  let  them  pass.  Stand  up  and  drink  a 
deep  cup  to  them,  rather !  To  Captains  Jorian  and 
Boris  of  Plassenburg,  brave  fellows  both  !  Charge  your 
tankards.  The  mead  of  Wendishland  shall  not  run 
dry.  Fill  them  to  the  brim.  A  caraway  seed  in  each 
for  health's  sake.  There  !  Now  to  the  honour  and  long 
lives  of  our  guests.     Jorian  and  Boris  —  hoch  !  " 

"  jorian  and  Boris  —  hoch  I  " 

The  toast  was  drunk  amid  multitudinous  shoutings 
and  handshakings.  The  two  men  had  stopped,  perforce, 
for  the  doors  were  in  the  hands  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
guard,  and  the  pike  points  clustered  thick  in  their  paths. 
They  turned  now  in  the  direction  of  the  high  table  from 
which  they  had  risen. 

"  Deal  you  so  with  your  guests  who  come  on  em- 
bassy," said  Jorian,  smiling.  "First  you  threaten  with 
hanging,  and  then  you  would  make  them  drunk  with 
mead  as  long  in  the  head  as  the  devil  of  Trier  that 
deceived  the  Archbishop-Elector  and  gat  the  holy  coat 
for  a  foot-warmer  !  " 

^'  Sit   down,  gentlemen,  and  I  also  will  sit,     Now 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

hearken  well,"  said  Werner;  "these  good  fellows  ol 
mine  will  bear  me  out  that  I  lie  not.  You  have  done 
bravely  and  spoken  up  like  good  men  taken  in  a  fault. 
But  we  will  not  permit  you  to  go  to  your  deaths.  For 
our  Lady  Joan  —  God  bless  her  !  —  would  not  take  a 
false  word  from  any  —  no,  not  if  it  were  on  Twelfth 
Night  or  after  a  Christmas  meny-making.  She  would 
not  forgive  it  from  your  old  Longbeard  upstairs,  whose 
business  it  is  —  that  is,  if  she  found  it  out.  '  To  the 
gallows!'  she  would  say,  and  we — why,  we  should 
sorrow  for  having  to  hasten  the  stretching  of  two  good 
men.  But  what  would  you,  gentlemen  !  We  are  her 
servants  and  we  should  be  obliged  to  do  her  will.  Keep 
your  rings,  lads,  and  keep  also  your  wits  about  you  when 
the  Duchess  questions  you  again.  Nav,  when  you  re- 
turn to  Plassenburg,  be  wise,  seek  out  a  Gretchen  and 
a  Katrin  and  bestow  the  rings  upon  them  —  that  is,  if 
ever  you  mean  again  to  stand  within  the  danger  of  Joan 
of  the  Sword  in  this  her  castle  of  Kernsbers;  !  " 

"  Gretchens  are  none  so  scarce  in  Plassenburg," 
muttered  Jorian.  "I  think  v/e  can  satisfy  her  —  hut  ai 
a  cheaper  price  than  a  ring  of  rubies  set  in  gold  !  " 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    BAITING    OF    THE    SPARHAWK 

"  T3  RING  in  the  Danish  Sparhawk,  and  we  will  bait 

JD      him  !  "   said   Werner.     "  We  have    shown  our 

guests  a  poor  entertainment.      Bring  in  the  Sparhawk, 

I  say  !  " 

At  this  there  ensued  unyoked  merriment.  Each  stout 
]ad,  from  one  end  of  the  hall  to  the  other,  undid  his  belt 
as  before  a  nobler  course  and  nudged  his  fellow. 

"  'Ware,  I  say,  stand  clear  !  Here  comes  the  Wild 
Boar  of  the  Ardennes,  the  Wolf  of  Thuringia,  the  Bear 
from  the  Forests  of  Bor-Russia  !  Stand  clear  —  stand 
clear  !  "  cried  Werner  von  Orseln,  laughing  and  pre- 
tending to  draw  a  dagger  to  provide  for  his  own  safety. 

The  inner  door  which  led  from  the  hall  of  the  men- 
at-arms  to  the  dungeons  of  the  castle  was  opened,  and  all 
looked  towards  it  with  an  air  of  great  amusement  and 
expectation. 

"  Now  we  shall  have  some  sport,"  each  man  said  to 
his  neighbour,  and   nodded. 

"  The  baiting  of  the  Sparhawk !  The  Sparhawk 
comes  !  " 

Jorian  and  Boris  looked  with  interest  in  the  direction 
of  the  door  through  which  such  a  remarkable  bird  was  to 
arrive.  They  could  not  understand  what  all  the  pother 
could  be  about. 

^^  What  the  devil  —  ?  "  said  Jorian, 

9 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

And,  not  to  be  behindhand,  "  What  the  devil  —  ? " 
echoed  Boris.  For  mostly  these  two  ran  neck  and 
neck  from  drop  of  flag  to  winning-post. 

Through  the  black  oblong  of  the  dungeon  doorway 
there  came  a  lad  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  tall,  slim, 
dark-browed,  limber.  He  walked  between  two  men-at- 
arms,  who  held  his  wrists  firmly  on  either  side.  His 
hands  were  chained  together,  and  from  between  them 
dangled  a  spiked  ball  that  clanked  heavily  on  the  floor  as  he 
stumbled  forward  rather  than  walked  into  the  room.  He 
had  black  hair  that  waved  from  his  forehead  in  a  back- 
ward sweep,  a  nose  of  slightly  Roman  shape,  which, 
together  with  his  bold  eagle's  eyes,  had  obtained  him 
the  name  of  the  Spar  or  Sparrow-hawk.  And  on  his 
face,  handsome  enough  though  pale,  there  wa§  such  a 
look  of  haughty  disdain  and  fierce  indignation  such  as 
one  may  see  in  the  demeanour  of  a  newly  prisoned  bird 
of  prey,  which  has  not  yet  had  time  to  forget  the  blue 
empyrean  spaces  and  the  stoop  with  half-closed  wings 
upon  the  quarry  trembling   in   the  vale. 

*'  Ha,  Sparhawk  !  "  cried  Werner,  "  how  goes  it.  Spar- 
hawk  ?      Any  less  bold  and  peremptory  than  when  last 
we  met  ?     Your  servant.  Count    Maurice   von   Lynar  ! 
We  pray  you  dance  for  us  the  Danish  dance  of  shuffle 
board.  Count  Maurice,  if  so  your  Excellency  pleases  !  " 

The  lad  looked  up  the  table  and  down  with  haughty 
eyes  that  deigned  no  answer. 

Werner  von  Orseln  turned  to  his  guests  and  said, 
"  This  Sparhawk  is  a  little  Dane  we  took  on  our  last 
foray  to  the  north.  It  is  only  in  that  direction  we  can 
lead  the  foray,  since  vou  have  grown  so  law-abiding  ancj 
strong  in  Plassenburg  and  the  Mark.  His  uncles  were 
all  killed  in  the  defence  of  Castle  Lvnar,  on  the  Northern 
Haft',     We  knovy  not  which  of  thes?  b^d  slsg  the  claim 

10 


The  Baiting  of  the  Sparhawk 

of  fatherhood  upon  him.  At  all  events,  his  grandad  had 
a  manor  there,  and  came  from  the  Jutland  sand-dunes  to 
build  a  castle  upon  the  Baltic  shores.  But  he  had  better 
have  stayed  at  home,  for  he  would  not  pay  the  Peace 
Geld  to  our  Henry.  So  the  Lion  roared,  and  we  went 
to  Castle  Lynar  and  made  an  end  —  save  of  this  spitting 
Sparhawk,  whom  our  master  would  not  let  us  kill, 
and  whom  now  we  keep  with  clipped  wings  for  out 
sport." 

The  lad  listened  with  erected  head  and  haughty  eyes  to 
the  tale,  but  answered  not  a  word. 

"  Now,"  cried  Werner,  with  his  cup  in  his  hand  and 
his  brows  bent  upon  the  youth,  "  dance  for  us  as  you 
used  upon  the  Baltic,  when  the  maids  came  in  fresh  from 
their  tiring  and  the  newest  kirtles  were  donned.  Dance, 
I  say  !      Foot  it  for  your  life  I  " 

The  lad  Maurice  von  Lynar  stood  with  his  bold  eyes 
upon  his  tormentors.  "  Curs  of  Bor-Russia,"  he  said  at 
last,  in  speech  that  trembled  with  anger,  "  you  may  vex 
the  soul  of  a  Danish  gentleman  with  your  aspersions, 
you  may  wound  his  body,  but  you  will  never  be  able  to 
stand  up  to  him  in  battle.  You  will  never  be  worthy 
to  eat  or  drink  with  him,  to  take  his  hand  in  comrade- 
ship, or  to  ride  a  tilt  with  him.  Pigs  of  the  sty  you  are, 
man  by  man  of  you  —  Wends  and  boors,  and  no  king's 
gentlemen  !  " 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Boris,  under  his  breath,  "that  is  well 
said  for  a  junker  !  " 

"  Silence  with  that  tongue  of  yours  !  "  muttered  his 
mate.  "  Dost  want  to  be  yawing  out  of  that  window 
presently,  with  the  wind  spinning  you  like  a  capon  on  a 
jack-spit  ?  They  are  uncanny  folk,  these  of  the  woman's 
castle  —  not  to  trust  to.  One  knows  not  what  they  may 
do,  nor  where  their  jest  may  end." 

II 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Hans  Trenck,  lift  this  springald's  pretty  wrist- 
bauble!  "  said  Werner. 

A  laughing  man-at-arms  went  up,  his  partisan  still 
over  his  shoulder,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  chain 
which  depended  between  the  manacled  wrists  of  the 
boy  Maurice,  he  strove  to  lift  the  spiked  ball. 

"  What !  "  cried  Werner,  "  canst  thou,  pap-backed 
babe,  not  lift  that  which  the  noble  youth  Count  Maurice 
of  Lynar  has  perforce  to  carry  about  with  him  all  day 
long?  Down  with  your  weapon,  man,  and  to  it  like  an 
apothecary  compounding  some  blister  for  stale  fly-blown 
rogues ! " 

At  the  word  the  man  laid  down  his  partisan  and  lifted 
the  ball  high  between  his  two  hands. 

"  Now  dance !  "  commanded  Werner  von  Orseln, 
"  dance  the  Danish  milkmaid's  coranto,  or  I  will  bid 
him  drop  it  on  your  toes.  Dost  want  them  jellied, 
man  ?  " 

"  Drop,  and  be  cursed  in  your  low-born  souls  !  "  cried 
the  lad  fiercely.  "  Untruss  my  hands  and  let  me  loose 
with  a  sword  and  ten  yards  clear  on  the  floor,  and,  by 
Saint  Magnus  of  the  Isles,  I  will  disembowel  any  three 
of  you  1  " 

"  You  will  not  dance  ?  "  said  Werner,  nodding  at  him. 

"  I  will  see  you  fry  in  hell  fire  first  !  " 

"  Down  with  the  ball,  Hans  Trenck  !  "  cried  Werner. 
"  He  that  will  not  dance  at  Castle  Kernsdorf  must  learn 
at  least  to  jump." 

The  man-at-arms,  still  grinning,  lifted  the  ball  a  little 
higher,  balancing  it  in  one  hand  to  give  it  more  force. 
He  prepared  to  plump  it  heavily  upon  the  undefended 
feet  of  young  Maurice. 

"  'Ware  toes,  Sparhawk  !  "  cried  the  soldiers  in  chorus, 
but  at  that  moment,  suddenly  kicking  out  as  far  as  his 

12 


The  Inviting  of  the  Sparliawk 

chains  allowed,  the  boy  took  the  stooping  lout  on  the 
face,  and  incontinently  widened  the  superficial  area  of 
his  mouth.  He  went  over  on  his  back  amid  the  uproari- 
ous laughter  of  his  fellows. 

"  Ha  !  Hans  Trenck,  the  Sparhawk  hath  spurred 
you  !  A  brave  Sparhawk !  Down  went  Hans  Trenck 
like  a  barndoor  fowl !  '* 

The  fellow  rose,  spluttering  angrily. 

"  Hold  his  legs,  someone,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  mark  his 
pretty  feet  for  him.  He  shall  not  kick  so  free  another 
time." 

A  couple  of  his  companions  took  hold  of  the  boy  on 
either  side,  so  that  he  could  not  move  his  limbs,  and 
Hans  again  lifted  high  the  ball. 

"  Shall  we  stand  this  ?  They  call  this  sport !  "  said 
Boris  ;   "  shall  I  pink  the  brutes  .''  " 

"  Sit  down  and  shut  your  eyes.  Our  Prince  Hugo 
will  harry  this  nest  of  thieves  anon.  For  the  present  we 
must  bear  their  devilry  if  we  want  to  escape  hanging !  " 

"  Now  then,  for  marrow  and  mashed  trotters  !  "  cried 
Hans,  spitting  the  blood  from  the  split  corners  of  his 
mouth. 

''Halt/" 


CHAPTER   III 

JOAN    DRAWS    FIRST    BLOOD 

THE  word  of  command  came  full  and  strong  from 
the  open  doorway  of  the  hall. 

Hans  Trenclc  came  instantly  to  the  salute  with  the 
ball  in  his  hand.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  lifting  it  now. 
In  fact,  he  did  not  seem  able  to  let  it  down.  Every 
man  in  the  hall  except  the  two  captains  of  Plassenburg 
had  risen  to  his  feet  and  stood  as  if  carved  in  marble. 

For  there  in  the  doorway,  her  slim  figure  erect  and 
exceedingly  commanding,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  shining 
with  indignation,  stood  the  Duchess  Joan  of  Hohenstein. 

"  Joan  of  the  Sword,"  said  Jorian,  enraptured.  "  Gott, 
what  a  wench  !  " 

In  stern  silence  she  advanced  into  the  hall,  every  man 
standing  fixed  at  attention. 

"  Good  discipline  !  "  said  Boris. 

"Shut  your  mouth  !  "  responded  Jorian. 

"  Keep  your  hand  so,  Hans  Trenck,"  said  their  mis- 
tress ;  "  give  me  your  sword,  Werner  !  You  shall  see 
whether  I  am  called  Joan  of  the  Sword  for  naught. 
You  would  torture  prisoners,  would  you,  after  what  I 
have  said  ?      Hold  up,  I  say,  Hans  Trenck  !  " 

And  so,  no  man  saying  her  nay,  the  girl  took  the 
shining  blade  and,  with  a  preliminary  swish  through  the 
air  and  a  balancing  shake  to  feel  the  elastic  return,  she 
looked  at  the  poor  knave  fixed  before  her  in  the  centre 

14 


Joan  Draws    First  Blood 

of  the  hall  with  his  wrist  strained  to  hold  the  prisoner's 
ball  aloft  at  the  stretch  of  his  arm.  What  wonder  if  it 
wavered  like  a  branch  in  an  unsteady  wind  ? 

"  Steady,  there  !  "  said  Joan. 

And  she  drew  back  her  arm  for  the  stroke. 

The  young  Dane,  who,  since  her  entrance,  had  looked 
at  nothing  save  the  radiant  beauty  of  the  figure  before 
him,  now  cried  out,  "  P'or  Heaven's  sake,  lady,  do  not 
soil  the  skirts  of  your  dress  with  his  villain  blood.  He 
but  obeyed  his  orders.  Let  me  be  set  free,  and  I  will 
fight  him  or  any  man  in  the  castle.  And  if  I  am  beaten, 
let  them  torture  me  till  I  am  carrion  fit  only  to  be 
thrown  into  the  castle  ditch." 

The  Duchess  paused  and  leaned  on  the  sword,  holding 
it  point  to  the  earth. 

"  By  whose  orders  was  this  thing  done  ? "  she 
demanded. 

The  lad  was  silent.  He  disdained  to  tell  tales  even 
on  his  enemies.      Was  he  not  a  gentleman  and  a  Dane  ? 

"  By  mine,  my  lady  !  "  said  Werner  von  Orseln,  a 
deep  flush  upon  his  manly  brow. 

The  girl  looked  severely  at  him.  She  seemed  to 
waver.  "  Good,  then  !  "  she  said,  "  the  Dane  shall  fight 
Werner  for  his  life.  Loose  him  and  chafe  his  wrists. 
Ho  !  there  —  bring  a  dozen  swords  from  the  armoury !  " 
The  flush  was  now  rising  to  the  boy's  cheek. 

"  I  thank  you.  Duchess,"  he  said.  "  I  ask  no  more 
than  this." 

"  Faith,  the  Sparhawk  is  not  tamed  yet,"  said  Boris  i 
"  we  shall  see  better  sport  ere  all  be  done  !  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,"  growled  Jorian,  "and  look." 

•  •••••••• 

«•'  Out  into  the  light !  "  cried  the  young  Duchess  Joan, 
pointing  the  way  with  Werner's  sword,  which  she  stUJ 

15 


J  oan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

held  in  her  hand.  And  going  first  she  went  forth  from 
the  hall  of  the  soldiery,  down  the  broad  stairs,  and  soon 
through  a  low-arched  door  with  a  sculptured  coat-of- 
arms  over  it,  out  into  the  quadrangle  of  the  courtyard, 

"  And  now  we  will  see  this  prisoner  of  ours,  this  cock 
of  the  Danish  marches,  make  good  his  words.  That, 
surely,  is  better  sport  than  to  drop  caltrops  upon  the 
toes  of  manacled  men." 

Werner  followed  unwillingly  and  with  a  deep  flush  of 
shame  upon  his  brow. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  need  to  prove  my 
courage  after  I  have  served  Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein 
for  thirty  years —  or  well-nigh  twice  the  years  you  have 
lived — fought  for  you  and  your  father  and  shed  my 
blood  in  a  score  of  pitched  battles,  to  say  nothing  of 
forays.  Of  course  I  will  fight,  but  surely  this  young 
cock  might  be  satisfied  to  have  his  comb  cut  by  younger 
hands." 

"  Was  yours  the  order  concerning  the  dropping  of  the 
ball?  "  asked  the  Duchess  Joan. 

The  grey-headed  soldier  nodded  grimly. 

"  I  gave  the  order,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Then  by  St.  Ursula  and  her  boneyard,  you  must 
stand  to  it !  "  cried  this  fiery  young  woman.  "  Else  will 
I  drub  you  with  the  flat  of  your  own  sword  !  " 

Werner  bowed  with  a  slightly  ironic  smile  on  his 
grizzled  face. 

"  As  your  ladyship  wills,"  he  said  ;  "I  do  not  give 
you  half  obedience.  If  you  say  that  I  am  to  get  down 
on  my  knees  and  play  cat's  cradle  with  the  Kernsdorf 
bairns,  I  will  do  it  ! " 

Joan  of  the  Sword  here  looked  calmly  at  him  with  a 
pertain  austerity  in  her  glance. 

^'  Why,  of  course  you  would  I '?  she  said  simply. 

10 


Joan  Draws  First  Blood 

Meanwhile  the  lad  had  been  freed  from  his  bonds  and 
stood  with  a  sword  in  his  hand  suppling  himself  for  the 
work  before  him  with  quick  little  guards  and  feints  and 
attacks.  There  was  a  proud  look  in  his  eyes,  and  as  his 
o-lance  left  the  Duchess  and  roved  round  the  circle  of 
his  foes,  it  flashed  full,  bold,  and  defiant. 

Werner  turned  to  a  palish,  lean  Bohemian  who  stood 
a  little  apart. 

"  Peter  Balta,"  he  said,  "  will  you  be  my  second  ? 
Agreed !  And  who  will  care  for  my  honourable 
opponent  ?  " 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  —  that  will  arrange  itself!  " 
said  Joan  to  her  chief  captain. 

-With  that  she  flashed  lightfoot  into  one  of  the  low 
doors  which  led  into  the  flanking  turrets  of  the  quad- 
rangle, and  in  a  tierce  of  seconds  she  was  out  again,  in 
a  forester's  dress  of  green  doublet  and  broad  pleated 
kirtle  that  came  to  her  knee. 

''  I  myself,"  she  said,  "  will  be  this  young  man's 
second,  in  this  place  where  he  has  so  many  enemies  and 
no  friends." 

As  the  forester  in  green  and  the  prisoner  stood  up  to- 
gether, the  guards  murmured  in  astonishment  at  the 
likeness  between  them. 

"  Had  this  Dane  and  our  Joan  been  brother  and 
sister,  they  could  not  have  favoured  each  other  more," 
they  said. 

A  deep  blush  rose  to  the  youth's  swarthy  face. 

"  I  am  not  worthy,"  he  said,  and  kept  his  eyes  upon 
the  lithe  figure  of  the  girl  in  its  array  of  well-fitting 
green.     "  I  cannot  thank  you  !  "  he  said  again. 

"Tut,"  she  answered,  "worthy  —  unworthy  —  thank 
—  unthank  —  what  avail  these  upon  the  mountains  of 
Kernsberg  and  in  the  castle  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  ?     A 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

good  heart,  a  merry  fight,  a  quick  death  !  These  are 
more  to  the  purpose  than  many  thanks  and  compliments. 
Peter  Balta,  are  you  seconding  Werner  ?  Come  hither. 
Let  us  try  the  swords.  Will  not  these  two  serve  ? 
Guard!  Well  smitten!  There,  enough.  What,  you 
are  touched  on  the  sword  arm  ?  Faith,  man,  for  the 
moment  I  forgot  that  it  was  not  you  and  I  who  were  to 
drum.  This  tickling  of  steel  goes  to  my  head  like  wine 
and  I  am  bound  to  forget.  I  am  sorry  —  but,  after  all, 
a  day  or  two  in  a  sling  will  put  your  arm  to  rights  again, 
Peter.  These  are  good  swords.  Now  then,  Maurice  von 
Lynar  —  Werner.     At  the  salute  !      Ready  !     Fall  to  !  " 

The  burly  figure  of  the  Captain  Werner  von  Orseln 
and  the  slim,  arrowy  swiftness  of  Maurice  the  Dane 
were  opposed  to  the  clear  shadow  of  the  quadrangle, 
where  neither  had  any  advantage  of  light,  and  the  swords 
of  their  seconds  kept  them  at  proper  distance  according 
to  the  fighting  rules  of  the  time. 

"  I  give  the  Sparhawk  five  minutes,"  said  Boris  to 
Jorian,  after  the  first  pass.  It  was  little  more  than 
formal  and  gave  no  token  of  what  was  to  follow.  Yet 
for  full  twenty  minutes  Werner  von  Orseln,  the  oldest 
sworder  of  all  the  north,  from  the  marshes  of  Wilna  to 
the  hills  of  Silesia,  could  do  nothing  but  stand  on  the 
defensive,  so  fierce  and  incessant  were  the  attacks  of  the 
young  Dane. 

But  Werner  did  not  give  back.  He  stood  his  ground, 
warily,  steadfastly,  with  a  half  smile  on  his  face,  a  wall 
of  quick  steel  in  front  of  him,  and  the  point  of  his 
adversary's  blade  ever  missing  him  an  inch  at  this  side, 
and  coming  an  inch  short  upon  that  other.  The  Dane 
kept  as  steadily  to  the  attack  and  made  his  points  as 
much  by  his  remarkable  nimbleness  upon  his  feet  as  by 
the  lightning  rapidity  of  his  sword-play« 


Joan  Draws  First  Blood 

"  The  Kenisbergcr  is  playing  with  him  !  "  said  Boris, 
under  his  breath. 

Jorian  nodded.      He  had  no  breath  to  waste. 

"  But  he  is  not  going  to  kill  him.  He  has  not  the 
Death  in  his  eye  !  "  Boris  spoke  with  judgment,  for  so 
it  proved.  Werner  lifted  an  eyebrow  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second  towards  his  mistress.  And  then  at  the  end  of 
the  next  rally  his  sword  just  touched  his  young  adversary 
on  the  shoulder  and  the  blood  answered  the  thrust,  stain- 
ing the  white  under-doublet  of  the  Dane. 

Then  Werner  threw  down  his  sword  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  A  well  fought  rally,"  he  said  ;  "  let  us  be  friends. 
We  need  lads  of  such  mettle  to  ride  the  forays  from  the 
hills  of  Kernsberg.  I  am  sorry  I  baited  you,  Spar- 
hawk  !  " 

"  A  good  fight  clears  all,"  replied  the  youth,  smiling 
in  his  turn. 

"  Bring  a  bandage  for  his  shoulder,  Peter  Balta  !  " 
cried  Joan.  "Mine  was  the  cleaner  stroke  which  went 
through  your  great  muscle,  but  Werner's  is  somewhat 
the  deeper.  You  can  keep  each  other  company  at  the 
dice-box  these  next  days.  And,  as  I  warrant  neither  of 
you  has  a  Liibeck  guilder  to  bless  yourselves  with,  you 
can  e'en  play  for  love  till  you  wear  out  the  pips  with 
throwing." 

"  Then  I  am  not  to  go  back  to  the  dungeon  ?  "  said 
the  lad,  one  reason  of  whose  wounding  had  been  that  he 
also  lifted  his  eyes  for  a  moment  to  those  of  his  second. 

"To  prison  —  no,"  said  Joan;  "you  are  one  of  us 
now.  We  have  blooded  you.  Do  you  take  service 
with   me  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  choice  —  your  father  left  me  none !  "  the 
lad  replied,  quickly  altering  his  phrase,     "  Castle  Lynar 

JO 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

is  no  more.  My  grandfather,  my  mother,  and  my 
uncles  are  all  dead,  and  there  is  small  service  in  going 
back  to  Denmark,  where  there  are  more  than  enough  of 
hungry  gentlemen  with  no  wealth  but  their  swords  and 
no  living  but  their  gentility.  If  you  will  let  me  serve 
in  the  ranks.  Duchess  Joan,  I  shall  be  well  content !  " 

"  I  also,"  said  Joan  heartily.  "  We  are  all  free  in 
Kernsberg,  even  if  we  are  not  all  equal.  We  will  try 
you  in  the  ranks  first.  Go  to  the  men's  quarters. 
George  the  Hussite,  I  deliver  him  to  you.  See  that  he 
does  not  get  into  any  more  quarrels  till  his  arm  is  better, 
and  curb  my  rascals'  tongues  as  far  as  you  can.  Re-' 
member,  who  meddles  with  the  principal  must  reckon 
with  the  second." 


SO 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    COZENING    OF    THE    AMBASSADOR 

THE  next  moment  Joan  had  disappeared,  and  when 
she  was  seen  again  she  had  assumed  the  skirt 
she  had  previously  worn  over  her  dress  of  forester,  and 
was  again  the  sedate  lady  of  the  castle,  ready  to  lead  the 
dance,  grace  the  banquet,  or  entertain  the  High  State's 
Councillor  of  Plassenburg,  Leopold  von  Dessauer. 

But  when  she  went  upstairs  she  met  on  the  middle 
flight  a  grey-bearded  man  with  a  skull  cap  of  black  vel- 
vet upon  his  head.  His  dress  also  was  of  black,  of  a 
distinguishing  plain  richness  and  dignity. 

"Whither  away,  Ambassador?"  she  cried  gaily  at 
sight  of  him. 

"  To  see  to  your  principal's  wound  and  that  of  the 
other  whom  your  sword  countered  in  the  trial  bout !  " 

"  What  .?  You  saw  I  "  said  the  Duchess,  with  a 
quick   flush, 

"  I  am  indeed  privileged  not  to  be  blind,"  said  Dessauer ; 
"  and  never  did  I  see  a  sight  that  contented  me  more." 

"And  you  stood  at  the  window  saying  in  vour  heart 
(nay,  do  not  deny  it)  unwomanly  —  bold  —  not  like  my 
lady  the  Princess  of  Plassenburg.  She  would  not  thus 
ruffle  in  the  courtyard  with  the  men-at-arms  !  " 

"  I  said  no  such  thing,"  said  the  High  Councillor. 
"  I  am  an  old  man  and  have  seen  many  fair  women, 
many  sweet  princesses,  each  perfect  to  their  lovers,  some 

21 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

of  them  even  perfect  to  their  lords.      But  I  have  never 
before  seen  a  Duchess  Joan  of  Hohenstein." 

"Ambassador,"  cried  the  girl,  "if  you  speak  thus  and 
with  that  flash  of  the  eye,  I  shall  have  to  bethink  me  whether 
you  come  not  as  an  ambassador  for  your  own  cause." 

"I  would  that  I  were  forty  years  younger  and  a  prince 
in  my  own  right,  instead  of  a  penniless  old  baron.  Why, 
then,  I  would  not  come  on  any  man's  errand,  nor  take  a 
refusal  even  from  your  fair  lips  !  " 

"  I  declare,"  said  the  Duchess  Joan  impetuously,  "you 
should  have  no  refusal  from  me.  You  are  the  only  man 
I  ever  met  who  can  speak  of  love  aJid  yet  be  tolerable. 
It  is  a  pity  that  my  father  left  me  the  evil  heritage  that 
I  must  wed  the  Prince  of  Courtland  or  lose  my 
dominions  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  name  of  her  predestined  husband  a 
sudden  flashing  thought  seemed  to  wake  in  the  girl's  breast. 

"  JMy  lord,"  she  said, "  is  it  true  that  you  go  to  Court- 
land  after  leaving  our  poor  eagle's  nest  up  here  on  the 
cliffs  of  the  Kernsberg  ?  " 

Von  Dessauer  bowed,  smiling  at  her.  He  was  not 
too  old  to  love  beauty  and  frankness  in  women.  "  It  is 
true  that  I  have  a  mission  from  my  Prince  and  Princess 
to  the  Prince  of  Courtland  and  Wilna.      But — " 

Joan  of  the  Sword  clasped  her  hands  and  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  I  would  not  ask  it  of  any  man  in  the  world  but 
yourself,"  she  said,  "but  will  you  let  me  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  Dessauer,  with  swift  depreca- 
tion, "  to  go  with  the  ambassador  of  another  power  to 
the  court  and  palace  of  the  man  you  are  to  marry  —  that 
were  a  tale,  indeed,  salt  enough  even  for  the  princes  of 
Ritterdom.     As  it  is  —  " 

The  Duchess  looked  across  at   Dessauer  with  great 

29 


The  Cozening  of  the  Ambassador 

haughtiness.  "  As  It  is,  they  talk  more  than  enough 
about  me  aheady,"  she  said.  "Well  —  I  know,  and 
care  not.  I  am  no  puling  maid  that  waits  till  she  is 
authorised  by  a  conclave  of  the  empire  before  she  dares 
wipe  her  nose  when  she  hath  a  cold  in  the  head.  Joan 
of  the  Sword  cares  not  what  any  prince  may  say —  from 
yours  of  Plassenburg,  him  of  the  Red  Axe,  to  the  fat 
Margraf  George." 

"  Oh,  our  Prince  -"^s  naught,  but  does  much," 

says   Dessauer.      "  'been  a   rough   blade   in    his 

time,  but  Karl  the'-  .'Son   mellowed   him,  and   his 

own  Princess  hath  finally  civilised  him." 

"Well,"  said  Joan  of  the  Sword,  with  determination, 
"  then  it  is  settled.      1  am  coming  with  you  to  Courtland." 

A  shade  of  anxiety  passed  over  Dessauer's  countenance. 
"  My  lady,"  he  answered,  "you  let  me  use  many  freedoms 
of  speech  with  you.  It  is  the  privilege  of  age  and  frailty. 
But  let  me  tell  you  that  the  thing  is  plainly  foolish. 
Hardly  under  the  escort  of  the  Empress  herself  would  it 
be  possible  for  you  to  visit,  without  scandal,  the  court  of 
the  Prince  of  Courtland  and  Wilna.  But  in  the  train 
of  an  envoy  of  Plassenburg,  even  if  that  ambassador  be 
poor  old  Leopold  von  Dessauer,  the  thing  is  frankly  im- 
possible." 

"  Well,  I  am  coming,  at  any  rate !  "  said  Joan,  as 
usual  rejecting  argument  and  falling  back  upon  assertion. 
"  Make  your  count  with  that,  friend  of  mine,  whether 
you  are  shocked  or  no.  It  is  the  penalty  a  respectable 
diplomatist  has  to  pay  for  cultivating  the  friendship  of 
lone  females  like  Joan  of  Hohenstein." 

Von  Dessauer  held  up  his  hands  in  horror  that  was 
more  than  half  affected. 

"  My  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  might  be  your  grandfather,  it 
is  true,  but  do  not  remind  me  of  it  too  often.      But  if  I 

23 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

were  your  great-great-grandfather  the  thing  you  propose 
is  still  impossible.  Think  of  what  the  Margraf  George 
and  his  chattering  train  would  say  !  " 

"Think  of  what  every  fathead  princeling  and  beer- 
swilling  ritter  from  here  to  Basel  would  say  !  "  cried 
Joan,  with  her  pretty  nose  in  the  air.  "  Let  them  say. 
They  will  not  say  anything  that  I  care  the  snap  of  my 
finger  for.  And  in  their  hearts  they  will  envy  you  the 
experience  —  shall  we  say  th-  -  '   Hege  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  thought  not  of,  my  lady,"  said  Des- 

sauer,  "for  an   old  man,  a  t^  ^tomy  of  bones  and 

parchment,  I  take  strange  pleasure  in  your  society  — 
more  than  I  ought,  I  tell  you  frankly.  You  are  to  me 
more  than  a  daughter,  though  I  am  but  a  poor  baron  of 
Plassenburgand  the  faithful  servant  of  the  Princess  Helene. 
It  is  for  your  sake  that  I  say  you  cannot  come  to  Wilna 
with  me.  Shall  the  future  Princess  of  Courtland  and 
Wilna  ride  in  the  train  of  an  ambassador  of  Plassenburg 
to  the  palace  in  which  she  is  soon  to  reign  as  queen?" 

"  I  said  not  that  I  would  go  as  the  Duchess,"  Joan 
replied,  speaking  low.  "You  say  you  saw  me  at  the 
fight  in  the  courtyard  out  there.  If  you  will  not  have 
the  Duchess  Joan  von  Hohenstein,  what  say  you  to  the 
Sparhawk's  second,  Johann  the  Squire  ?  " 

Dessauer  started. 

"  You  dare  not,"  he  said  ;  "  why,  there  is  not  a  lady 
in  the  German  land,  from  Bohemia  to  the  Baltic,  that 
dares  do  as  much." 

"  Ladies  —  I  am  sick  for  ever  of  hearing  that  a  lady 
must  not  do  this  or  that,  go  here  or  there,  because  of  her 
so  fragile  reputation.  She  may  do  needlework  or  em- 
broider altar-cloths,  but  she  must  not  shoot  with  a  pistolet 
or  play  with  a  sword.  Well,  I  am  a  lady;  let  him 
counter  it  who  durst.      And  I  cannot  broider  ahar-cloths, 

24 


The  Cozening  of  the  Ambassador 

and  I  will  not  try  —  but  I  can  shoot  with  any  man  ?.{ 
the  flying  mark.  She  must  have  a  care  for  her  honour, 
which  (poor,  feckless  wretch  !)  will  be  smirched  if  she 
speaks  to  any  as  a  man  speaks  to  his  fellows.  Faith  ! 
For  me  I  would  rather  die  than  have  such  an  egg-shell 
reputation.  1  can  care  for  mine  own.  I  need  none  to 
take  up  my  quarrel.  If  any  have  a  word  to  say  upon 
the  repute  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  —  why,  let  him  say  it 
at  the  point  of  her  rapier." 

The  girl  stood  up,  tall  and  straight,  with  her  head 
thrown  back  at  the  world,  with  an  exact  and  striking 
counterpart  of  the  defiance  of  the  young  Dane  in  the 
presence  of  his  enemies  an  hour  before.  Dessauer  stood 
wavering.  With  quick  tact  she  altered  her  tone,  and 
with  a  soft  accent  and  in  a  melting  voice  she  said,  "  Ah, 
let  me  come.  I  will  make  such  a  creditable  squire  all 
in  a  suit  of  blue  and  silver,  with  just  a  touch  of  a  juice 
upon  my  face  that  my  old  nurse  knows  the  secret  of." 

Still  Dessauer  stood  silent,  Vv'eighing  difficulties  and 
chances. 

^'  I  tell  you  what,"  she  cried,  pursuing  her  advantage, 
"  I  wil\  see  the  man  I  am  to  marry  as  men  see  him, 
without  trappings  and  furbelows.  And  if  you  will  not 
take  me,  by  my  faith  !  I  will  send  Werner  there,  whom 
you  saw  fight  the  Dane,  as  my  own  envoy,  and  go 
with  him  as  a  page.  On  the  honour  of  Henry,  my 
father,  I  will !  " 

Von  Dessauer  capitulated.  "  A  wilful  woman  "  — 
he  smiled  — "a  wilful,  wilful  woman.  Well,  I  am  not 
responsible  for  aught  of  this,  save  for  my  own  weakness 
in  permitting  it.  It  is  a  madcap  freak,  and  no  good  will 
come  of  it." 

"  But  you  will  like  it  !  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  yes,  you  will 
like  it  very  much.   For,  you  see, you  are  fond  of  madcaps." 

25 


CHAPTER   V 

JOHANN    THE    SECRETARY 

TEN  miles  outside  the  boundary  of  the  little  hill  state 
of  Kernsberg,  the  embassage  of  Plassenburg  was 
met  by  another  cavalcade  bearing  additional  instructions 
from  the  Princess  Helene.  The  leader  was  a  slender 
youth  of  middle  height,  the  accuracy  of  whose  form  gave 
evidence  of  much  agility.  He  was  dark-skinned,  of 
an  olive  complexion,  and  with  black  hair  which 
curled  crisply  about  his  small  head.  His  eyes  were 
dark  and  fine,  looking  stralghtly  and  boldly  out  upon  all 
comers. 

With  him,  as  chiefs  of  his  escort,  were  those  two 
silent  men  Jorian  and  Boris,  who  had  ridden  to  Plassen- 
burg for  instructions.  None  of  those  who  followed 
Von  Dessauer  had  ever  before  set  eyes  upon  this  youth, 
who  came  with  fresh  despatches,  and,  in  consequence, 
great  was  the  consternation  and  many  the  surmises  as 
to  who  he  m.ight  be  who  stood  so  high  in  favour  with 
the  Prince  and  Princess. 

But  his  very  first  words  made  the  matter  clear. 

"Your  Excellency,"  he  said  to  the  Ambassador,"! 
bring  you  the  most  recent  instructions  from  their  High- 
nesses Hugo  and  Helene  of  Plassenburg.  They  sojourn 
for  the  time  being  in  the  city  of  Thorn,  where  they 
build  a  new  palace  for  themselves.  I  was  brought  from 
Hamburg  to  be  one  of  the  master-builders.     I  have  skill 

26 


Johann  the  Secretary 

in  plans,  and  I  bring  you  these  for  your  approval  and 
in  order  to  go  over  the  rates  of  cost  with  you,  as  Treas- 
urer of  the  Plassenburg  and  the  Wolfsmark." 

Dessauer  took,  with  every  token  of  deference,  the 
sheaf  of  papers  so  carefully  enwrapt  and  sealed  with 
the  seal  of  Plassenburg. 

"  I  thank  you  for  y®ur  diligence,  good  master  archi- 
tect," he  said,  "  I  shall  peruse  these  at  my  leisure,  and, 
I  doubt  not,  call  upon  you  frequently  for  explanations." 

The  young  man  rode  on  at  his  side,  modestly  waiting 
to  be  questioned. 

"  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?  "  asked  Von  Dessauer, 
so  that  all  the  escort  might  hear. 

"  I  am  called  Johann  Pyrmont,"  said  the  youth 
promptly,  and  with  engaging  frankness ;  "  my  father 
is  a  Hamburg  merchant,  trading  to  the  Spanish  ports  for 
oil  and  wine,  but  I  follow  him  not.  I  had  ever  a  turn 
for  drawing  and  the  art  of  design  !  " 

''  Also  for  having  your  own  way,  as  is  common  with 
the  young,"  said  the  Ambassador,  smiling  shrewdly. 
"  So,  against  your  father's  will,  you  apprenticed  your- 
self to  an  architect  ?  " 

The  young  man  bowed. 

"  Nay,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  my  good  father  could  deny 
me  nothing  on  which  I  had  set  my  mind." 

"  Not  he,"  muttered  Dessauer  under  his  breath  ;  "  no, 
nor  anyone  else  !  " 

So,  bridle  by  jingling  bridle,  they  rode  on  over  the 
interminable  plain  till  Kernsberg,  with  its  noble  crown 
of  towers,  became  first  grey  and  afterwards  pale  blue 
in  the  utmost  distance.  Then,  like  a  tall  ship  at  sea, 
it  sank  altogether  out  of  sight.  And  still  they  rode  on 
through  the  marshy  hollows,  round  innumerable  little 
wildfowl-haunted   lakelets,   and    over   the    sandy   rolling 

27 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

dunes  to  the  city  of  Courtland,  where  was  abiding  the 
Prince  of  that  rich  and  noble  principality. 

It  had  been  a  favourite  scheme  of  dead  princes  of 
Courtland  to  unite  to  their  fat  acres  and  populous  mer- 
cantile cities  the  hardy  mountaineers  and  pastoral  up- 
lands of  Kernsberg.  But  though  Wilna  and  Court- 
land  were  infinitely  more  populous,  the  Eagle's  Nest 
was  ill  to  pull  down,  and  hitherto  the  best  laid  plans  for 
their  Union  had  invariably  fallen  through.  But  there 
had  come  to  Joan's  father,  Henry,  called  the  Lion,  and 
the  late  Prince  Michael  of  Courtland  a  better  thought. 
One  had  a  daughter,  the  other  a  son.  Neither  was 
burdened  with  any  law  of  succession,  Salic  or  other. 
They  held  their  domains  by  the  free  tenure  of  the  sword. 
They  could  leave  their  powers  to  whomsoever  they 
would,  not  even  the  Emperor  having  the  right  to  say, 
-•'  What  doest  thou  ?  "  So  with  that  frank  carelessness 
of  the  private  feelings  of  the  individual  which  has  ever 
distinguished  great  politicians,  they  decreed  that,  as  a 
condition  of  succession,  their  male  and  female  heirs 
should   marry  each  other. 

This  bond  of  heritage-brotherhood,  as  it  was  called, 
had  received  the  sanction  of  the  Emperor  in  full  Diet, 
and  now  it  wanted  only  that  the  Duchess  Joan  of  Ho- 
henstein  should  be  of  age,  in  order  that  the  provinces 
might  at  last  be  united  and  the  long  wars  of  highland 
and  lowland  at  an  end. 

The  plan  had  taken  everything  into  consideration 
except  the  private  character  of  the  persons  principally 
affected.  Prince  Louis  of  Courtland,  and  the  young 
Duchess  Joan. 

As  they  came  nearer  to  the  ancient  city  of  Courtland, 
it  spread  like  a  metropolis  before  the  eyes  of  the  embassy 
of  the   Prince  and   Princess  of  Plassenburg.      The  city 


Johann  the  Secretary- 
stretched  from  the  rock  whereon  the  fortress-palace  was 
built,  along  a  windy,  irregular  ridge.  Innumerable  crow- 
stepped  gables  were  set  at  right  angles  to  the  street. 
The  towers  of  the  minster  rose  against  the  sky  at  the 
lower  end,  and  far  to  the  southward  the  palace  of  the 
Archbishop  cast  peaked  shadows  from  its  many  towers, 
walled  and  cinctured  like  a  city  within  a  city. 

It  was  a  far-seen  town  this  of  Courtland,  populous, 
prosperous,  defenced.  Its  clear  and  broad  river  was 
navigable  for  any  craft  of  the  time,  and  already  it 
threatened  to  equal  if  not  to  outstrip  in  importance  the 
free  cities  of  the  Hanseatic  League  —  so  far,  at  least, 
as  the  trade  of  the  Baltic  was  concerned. 

Courtland  had  long  been  considered  too  strong  to  be 
attacked,  save  from  the  Polish  border,  while  the  adhesion 
of  Kernsberg,  and  the  drafting  of  the  Duchess's  hardy 
fighting  mountaineers  into  the  lowland  armies,  would 
render  the  princedom  safe  for  many  generations. 

Pity  it  was  that  plans  so  far-reaching  and  purposes 
so  politic  should  be  dependent  upon  the  whims  of  a  girl. 

But  then  it  is  just  such  whims  that  make  the  world 
interesting. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  famous  tournament  of  the 
Black  Eagle  in  the  princely  city  of  Courtland.  Prince 
Louis  had  sent  out  an  escort  to  bring  in  the  travellers 
and  conduct  them  with  honour  to  the  seats  reserved  for 
them.  The  Ambassador  and  High  Councillor  of  Plas- 
senburg  must  be  received  with  all  observance.  He  had, 
he  gave  notice,  brought  a  secretary  with  hii>«.  For  so 
the  young  architect  was  now  styled,  in  orsler  to  give 
him  an  official  position  in  the  mission. 

The  Prince  had  also  sent  a  recjuest  that  as  this  was 
the  day  upon  which  all  combatants  wore  p  ain  armou^ 

29 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

and  jousted  unknown,  for  that  time  the  Ambassador 
should  accept  other  escort  and  excuse  him  coming  to 
receive  him  in  person.  They  would  meet  at  dinner  on 
the  morrow,  in  the  great  hall  of  the  palace. 

The  city  was  arrayed  in  flaunting  banners,  some 
streaming  high  from  the  lofty  towers  of  the  cathedral, 
while  others  (in  streets  into  which  the  winds  came  only 
in  puffs)  more  languidly  and  luxuriously  unfolded  them- 
selves, as  the  Black  Eagle  on  its  ground  of  white  every- 
where took  the  air.  All  over  the  city  a  galaxy  of 
lighter  silk  and  bunting,  pennons,  bannerettes,  parti- 
coloured streamers  of  the  national  colours  danced  beck- 
ing and  bowing  from  window  and  roof-tree. 

Yet  there  was  a  curious  silence  too  in  the  streets,  as 
they  rode  towards  the  lists  of  the  Black  Eagle,  and  when 
At  last  thev  came  within  hearing  of  the  hum  of  the 
thousands  gathered  there,  they  understood  why  the  city 
had  seemed  so  unwontedly  deserted.  The  Courtlanders 
surrounded  the  great  oval  space  of  the  lists  in  clustered 
myriads,  and  their  eyes  were  bent  inwards.  It  was  the 
crisis  of  the  great  meiee.  Scarcely  an  eye  in  all  that 
assembly  was  turned  towards  the  strangers,  who  passed 
quite  unobserved  to  their  reserved  places  in  the  Prince's 
empty  box.  Only  his  sister  Margaret,  throned  on  high 
as  Queen  of  Beauty,  looked  down  upon  them  with 
interest, -seeing  that  they  were  men  who  came,  and  that 
one  at  least  was  young. 

It  was  a  gay  and  changeful  scene.  In  the  brilliant 
daylight  of  the  lists  a  hundred  knights  charged  and  re- 
charged. Those  who  had  been  unhorsed  drew  their 
swords  and  attacked  with  fury  others  of  the  enemy  in 
like  case.  The  air  resounded  with  the  clashing  of  steel 
on  steel. 

Fifty  knights  with  white  plumes  on  their  helmets  had 


Johanii  the  Secretary 

charged  fifty  wearing  black,  and  the  combat  still  raged. 
The  shouts  of  the  people  rang  in  the  ears  of  the  ambas- 
sador of  Plassenburg  and  his  secretary,  as  they  seated 
themselves  and  looked  down  upon  the  tide  of  combat 
over  the  flower-draped  balustrades  of  their  box. 

"  The  Blacks  have  it !  "  said  Dessauer,  after  regarding 
the  melee  with  interest.  "  We  have  come  in  time  to  see 
the  end  of  the  fray.  Would  that  we  had  also  seen  the 
shock  !"  / 

And  indeed  the  Blacks  seemed  to  have  carried  all  be- 
fore them.  They  were  mostly  bigger  and  stronger  built 
men,  knights  of  the  landward  provinces,  and  their  horses, 
great  solid-boned  Saxon  chargers,  had  by  sheer  weight 
borne  their  way  through  the  lighter  ranks  of  the  Baltic 
knights  on  the  white  horses. 

Not  more  than  half-a-dozen  of  these  were  now  In  the 
saddle,  and  all  over  the  field  were  to  be  seen  black 
knights  receiving  the  submission  of  knights  whose  broken 
spears  and  tarnished  plumes  showed  that  they  had  suc- 
cumbed in  the  charge  to  superior  weight  of  metal,  f^or, 
so  soon  as  a  knight  yielded,  his  steed  became  the  prop- 
erty of  his  victorious  foe,  and  he  himself  was  either  car- 
ried or  limped  as  best  he  could  to  the  pavilion  of  his 
party,  there  to  remove  his  armour  and  send  it  also  to  the 
victor — to  whom,  in  literal  fact,  belonged  the  spoils. 

Of  the  half-dozen  white  knights  who  still  kept  up  the 
struggle,  one  shone  pre-eminent  for  dashing  valour. 
His  charger  surged  hither  and  thither  through  the  crowd, 
his  spear  was  victorious  and  unbroken,  and  the  boldest 
opponent  thought  it  politic  to  turn  aside  out  of  his  path. 
Set  upon  by  more  than  a  score  of  riders,  he  still  managed 
to  evade  them,  and  even  when  all  his  side  had  submitted 
and  he  alone  remained  —  at  the  end  of  the  lists  to  which 
he   had  been   driven,   he   made    him    ready   for   a   final 

31 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

charge  into  the  scarce  broken  array  of  his  foes,  of  whom 
more  than  twenty  remained  still  on  horseback  in  the  field. 

But  though  his  spear  struck  true  in  the  middle  of  his 
immediate  antagonist's  shield  and  this  opponent  went 
down,  it  availed  the  brave  white  knight  nothing.  For  at 
the  same  moment  half  a  score  of  lances  struck  him  on 
the  shield,  on  the  breastplate,  on  the  visor  bars  of  his 
helmet,  and  he  fell  heavily  to  the  earth.  Nevertheless, 
scarcely  had  he  touched  the  ground  when  he  was  again 
on  his  feet.  Sword  in  hand,  he  stood  for  a  moment  un- 
scathed and  undaunted,  while  his  foes,  momentarily  dis- 
ordered by  the  energy  of  the  charge,  reined  in  their 
steeds  ere  they  could   return  to  the  attack. 

"  Oh,  well  ridden  !  "  "  Greatly  done  !  "  "A  most 
noble  knight  !  "  These  were  the  exclamations  which 
came  from  all  parts  of  the  crowd  which  surged  about 
the  barriers  on   this   great  day. 

"  I  would  that  I  were  down  beside  him  with  a  sword 
in  my  hand  also !  "  said  the  young  architect,  Johann 
Pyrmont,  secretary  of  the  embassage  of  Plassenburg. 

"  'T  is  well  ypu  are  where  you  are,  madcap,  sitting  by 
an  old  man's  side,  instead  of  fighting  by  that  of  a  young 
one,"  said  Dessauer.  "  Else  then,  indeed,  the  bent 
would  be  on  fire." 

But  at  this  moment  the  Princess  Margaret,  sister  of 
the  reigning  Prince,  rose  in  her  place  and  threw  down 
the  truncheon,  which  in  such  cases  stops  the  combat. 

"  The  black  knights  have  won,"  so  she  gave  her 
verdict,  "but  there  is  no  need  to  humiliate  or  injure  a 
knight  who  has  fought  so  well  against  so  many.  Let 
the  white  knight  come  hither  —  though  he  be  of  the  los- 
ing side.  His  is  the  reward  of  highest  honour.  Give 
him  a  steed,  that  he  may  come  and  receive  the  meed  of 
bravest  in  the  tournay  I  " 

32 


Johaiin  the  Secretary 

The  knights  of  the  black  were  manifestly  a  little  dis- 
appointed that  after  their  victory  one  of  their  opponents 
should  be  selected  for  honour.  But  there  was  no  appeal 
from  the  decision  of  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty. 
For  that  day  she  reigned  alone,  without  council  or  diet 
imperial. 

The  black  riders  had  therefore  to  be  contented  with 
their  general  victory,  which,  indeed,  was  indisputable 
enough. 

The  white  knight  came  near  and  said  something  in 
a  low  voice,  unheard  by  the  general  crowd,  to  the 
Princess. 

"  I  insist,"  she  said  aloud ;  "  you  must  unhelm,  that 
al'l  may  see  the  face  of  him  who  has  won  the  prize." 

Whereat  the  knight  bowed  and  undid  his  helmet.  A 
closely-cropped  fair-haired  head  was  revealed,  the  fea- 
tures clearly  chiselled  and  yet  of  a  massive  beauty,  the 
head  of  a  marble  emperor. 

"  My  brother  —  you  !  "  cried  -Margaret  of  Courtland 
in  astonishment. 

The  voice  of  the  Princess  had  also  something  of  dis- 
appointment in  it.  Clearly  she  had  wished  for  some 
other  to  receive  the  honour,  and  the  event  did  not  please 
her.     But  it  was  otherwise  with  the  populace. 

"  The  young  Prince  !  The  young  Prince !  "  cried  the 
people,  surging  impetuously  about  the  barriers.  "  Glory 
to  the  noble  house  of  Courtland  and  to  the  brave  Prince." 

The  Ambassador  looked  curiously  at  his  secretary. 
He  was  standing  with  eyes  brilliant  as  those  of  a  man  in 
fever.  His  face  paled  even  under  its  dusky  tan.  His 
lips  quivered.  He  had  straightened  himself  up  as  brave 
and  generous  men  do  when  they  see  a  deed  of  bravery 
done  by  another,  or  like  a  v/oman  who  sees  the  man  she 
loves  publicly  honoured. 

3  33 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

*'The  Prince!"  said  Johaiin  Pyrmont,  in  a  voice 
hoarse  and  broken  ;  "  it  is  the  Prince  himself." 

And  on  his  high  seat  the  State's  Councillor,  Leopold 
von  Dessauer,  smiled  well  pleased. 

"This  turns  out  better  than  I  had  expected,"  he  said. 
"  God  himself  favours  the  drunkard  and  the  madcap. 
Only  wise  men  suffer  for  their  sins  —  aye,  and  often  for 
those  of  other  people  as  well." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    ambassador's    AMBASSADOR 

AFTER  the  tournay  of  the  Black  Eagle  Leopold 
von  Dessauer  had  gone  to  bed  early,  feel'ng 
younger  and  lighter  than  he  had  done  for  years.  F^rt 
of  his  scheme  for  these  northern  provinces  of  his  father- 
land consisted  in  gradual  substitution  of  a  few  strong 
states  for  many  weak  ones.  For  this  reason  he  smiled 
when  he  saw  the  eyes  of  his  secretary  shining  like  stars. 

It  would  yet  more  have  rejoiced  him  had  he  known 
how  uneasy  lay  that  handsome  head  on  its  pillow.  Aye, 
even  in  pain  it  would  have  pleasured  him.  For  Von 
Dessauer  was  lying  awake  and  thinking  of  the  strange 
chances  which  help  or  mar  the  lives  of  men  and  women, 
when  a  sudden  sense  of  shock,  a  numbness  spreading 
upwards  through  his  limbs,  the  rising  of  rheum  to  his 
eyes,  and  a  humming  in  his  ears  announced  the  approach 
of  one  of  those  attacks  to  which  he  had  been  subject 
ever  since  he  had  been  v.o'jndcd  in  a  duel  some  years 
before  —  a  duel  in  which  his  present  Prince  and  his  late 
master,  Karl,  the  Miller's  son,  had  both  been  engaged. 

The  ambassador  called  for  Jorian  in  a  feeble  voice. 
That  light-sleeping  soldier  immediately  answered  him. 
He  had  stretched  hims?lf  out,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  for 
all  covering,  on  the  floor  of  the  ante-chamber  in  Des- 
sauer's  lodging.  In  a  moment,  therefore,  he  presented 
himself  at  the    door  completely  dressed.     A  shake  and 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

a  half-checked  yawn  completed  his  inexpensive  toilet,  for 
Jorian  prided  himself  on  not  being  what  he  called  "  a 
pretty-pretty  captainet." 

"  Your  Excellency  needs  me  !  "  he  said,  standing  at 
the  salute  as  if  it  were  the  morning  guard  changing  at 
the  palace  gate. 

"  Give  me  my  case  of  medicine,"  said  the  old  man ; 
"  that  in  the  bag  of  rough  Silesian  leather.  So  !  I  feel 
my  old  attack  coming  upon  me.  It  will  be  three  days 
before  I  can  stir.  Yet  must  these  papers  be  put  in  the 
hands  of  the  Prince  early  this  morning.  Ah,  there  is 
my  little  Johann  ;  I  was  thinking  about  her  —  him,  I 
mean.  Well,  he  shall  have  his  chance.  This  foul 
easterly  wind   may  yet  blow  us  all  good." 

He  made  a  wry  face  as  a  twinge  of  pain  caught  him. 
It  passed  and  he  resumed. 

"  Go,  Jorian,"  he  said,  "  tap  light  upon  his  chamber 
door.  If  he  chance  to  be  in  the  deep  sleep  of  youth 
and  health  —  not  yet  distempered  by  thought  and  love, 
by  old  age  and  the  eating  of  suppers  —  rap  louder,  for  I 
must  see  him  forthwith.  There  is  much  to  order  ere 
at  nine  o'clock  he  must  adjourn  to  the  summer  palace 
to  meet  the  Prince." 

So  in  a  trice  Jorian  was  gone  and  at  the  door  of  the 
architect-secretary,  he  of  the  brown  skin  and  Greekish 
profile. 

Johann  Pyrmont  was,  it  appeared,  neither  in  bed  nor 
yet  asleep.  Instead,  he  had  been  standing  at  the  window 
Vv'atching  the  brighter  stars  swim  up  one  by  one  out  of 
the  east.  The  thoughts  of  the  young  man  were  happy 
thoughts.  At  last  he  was  in  the  capital  city  of  the 
Princes  of  Courtland.  His  many  days'  journey  had  not 
been  in  vain.  Almost  in  the  first  moment  he  had  seen 
the  noble  youthful  prince  and  his  sister,  and  he  was  pre- 

36 


An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 

pared  to  like  them  both.  Life  held  more  than  the  prep- 
aration of  plans  and  the  ordering  of  bricklayers  at  their 
tasks.  There  was  in  it,  strangely  enough,  a  young  man 
with  closely  cropped  head  whom  Johann  had  seen  storm 
through  the  ranks  of  the  fighting  men  that  day,  and 
afterwards  receive  the  guerdon  of  the  bravest. 

Though  what  difference  these  things  made  to  an 
architect  of  Hamburg  town  it  was  difficult  (on  the 
face  of  things)  to  perceive.  Nevertheless,  he  stood  and 
watched  the  east.  It  was  five  of  a  clear  autumnal 
morning,  and  a  light  chill  breath  blew  from  the  point 
at  which  some  hours  after  the  sun  would  rise. 

A  pale  moon  in  her  last  quarter  was  tossed  high 
among  the  stars,  as  if  upborne  upon  the  ebbing  tide  of 
night.  Translucent  greyness  filled  the  wide  plain  of 
Courtland,  and  in  the  scattered  farms  about  the  lights, 
which  signified  early  horse-tending  and  the  milking  of 
kine,  were  already  beginning  to  outrival  the  waning 
stars.  Orion,  with  his  guardian  four  set  wide  about 
him,  tingled  against  the  face  of  the  east,  and  the  electric 
lamp  of  Sirius  burnt  blue  above  the  horizon.  The  light- 
ness and  the  hope  of  breathing  morn,  the  scent  of  fields 
half  reaped,  the  cool  salt  wind  from  ofF  the  sea,  filled  the 
channels  of  the  youth's  life.  It  was  good  to  be  alive, 
thought  Johann  Pyrmont,  architect  of  Hamburg,  or 
otherwise. 

Jorian  rapped  low,  with  more  reverence  than  is  com- 
mon from  captains  to  secretaries  of  legations.  The 
young  man  was  leaning  out  of  the  window  and  did  not 
hear,  "^fhe  ex-man-at-arms  rapped  louder.  At  the  sour;d 
Johann  Pyrmont  clapped  his  hand  to  the  hip  where  his 
sword  should  have  been. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  about  with  keen 
alertness,  and  in  a  voice  which  seemed   at  once  sweeter 

37 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

and  more  commanding  than  even  the  most  imperious 
master-builder  would  naturally  use  to   his  underlings. 

"I — Jorian  !  His  Excellency  is  taken  suddenly  ill 
and  bade  me  come  for  you." 

Immediately  the  secretary  opened  the  door,  and  in  a 
few  seconds  stood  at  the  old  man's  bedside. 

Here  they  talked  low  to  each  other,  the  young  man 
with  his  hand  laid  tenderly  on  the  forehead  of  his  elder. 
Only  their  last  words  concern  us  at  present. 

"  This  will  serve  to  begin  my  business  and  to  finish 
yours.  Thereafter  the  sooner  you  return  to  Kernsberg 
the  better.  Remember,  the  moon  cannot  long  be  lost 
out  of  the  sky  without  causing   remark." 

The  young  man  took  the  Ambassador's  papers  and 
went  out.  Dessauer  took  a  composing  draught  and  lay 
hack  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  is  humbling,"  he  said  to  Jorian,  "  that  to  com- 
pose young  wits  you  must  do  it  through  the  heart,  but 
in  the  case  of  the  old  through  the  stomach." 

"  'T  is  a  strange  draught  he  hath  gotten,"  said  the 
soldier,  indicating  the  door  by  which  the  secretary  had 
gone  forth,"  If  I  be  not  mistaken,  much  water  shall  flow 
under  bridge  ere  his  sickness  be  cured." 

As  soon  as  he  had  reached  his  own  chamber  Johann 
laid  the  papers  upon  the  table  without  glancing  at  them. 
He  went  again  to  the  window  and  looked  across  the 
city.  During  his  brief  absence  the  stars  had  thinned 
out.  Even  the  moon  was  now  no  brighter  than  so 
much  grey  ash.  But  the  east  had  grown  red,  and 
burned  a  glorious  arch  of  cool  brightness,  with  all  its 
cloud  edges  teased  loosely  into  wisps  and  flakes  of 
changeful  fire.  The  wind  began  to  blow  more  largely 
and  statedly  before  the  coming  of  the  sun.  Johann  drew  a 
long  breath  and  opened  wide  both  halves  of  the  casement. 

38 


An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 

"  To-day  I  shall  see  the  Prince  !  "  he  said. 

It  was  exactly  nine  of  the  clock  when  he  set  out  for 
the  palace.  He  was  attired  in  the  plain  black  dress  of  a 
secretary,  with  only  the  narrowest  corded  edge  and  col- 
lar of  rough  scrolled  gold.  The  slimness  of  his  waist 
was  filled  in  so  well  that  he  looked  no  more  than  a  well- 
grown,  clean-limbed  stripling  of  twenty.  A  plain  sword 
in  a  scabbard  of  black  leather  was  belted  to  his  side,  and 
he  carried  his  papers  in  his  hand  sealed  with  seals  and 
wrapped  carefully  about  with  silken  ties.  Yet,  for  all 
this  simplicity,  the  eyes  of  Johann  Pyrmont  were  so  full 
of  light,  and  his  beauty  of  face  so  surprising,  that  all 
turned  to  look  after  him  as  he  went  by  with  free  carriage 
and  a  swing  to  his  gait. 

Even  the  market  girls  ran  together  to  gaze  after  the 
young  stranger.  Maids  of  higher  degree  called  sharply 
to  each  other  and  crowded  the  balconies  to  look  down 
upon  him.  But  through  the  busy  morning  tumult  of 
the  streets  Johann  Pyrmont  walked  serene  and  uncon- 
scious. Was  not  he  going  to  the  summer  palace  to  see 
the  Prince  ? 

At  the  great  door  of  the  outer  pavilion  he  intimated 
his  desire  to  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  guard. 

"  Which  Prince  ?  "   said  the  officer  curtly. 

"  Why,"  answered  the  secretary,  with  a  glad  heart, 
"  there  is  but  one  —  he  who  won  the  prize  yesterday  at 
the  tilting  !  " 

"  God's  truth  !  —  And  you  say  true,"  ejaculated  the 
guardsman,  starting;  "but  who  are  you  who  dare  blurt 
out  on  the  steps  of  the  palace  of  Courtland  that  which 
ordinary  men  —  aye,  even  good  soldiers  —  durst  scarcely 
think  in  their  own  hearts  ?  " 

"  I  am  secretary  of  the  noble  Ambassador  of  Plassen- 
burg,  and  I  come  to  see  the  Prince  !  " 

29 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  You  are  a  limber  slip  to  be  so  outspoken,"  said  the 
man ;  "  but  remember  that  you  would  be  right  easily 
broken  on  the  wheel.  So  have  a  care  of  those  slender 
limbs  of  yours.  Keep  them  for  the  maids  of  your 
Plassenburg !  " 

And  with  the  freedom  of  a  soldier  he  put  his  hand 
about  the  neck  of  Johann  Pyrmont,  laying  it  upon  his 
far  shoulder  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  an  elder,  who 
has  it  in  his  power  to  do  a  kindness  to  a  younger.  In- 
stinctively Johann  slipped  aside  his  shoulder,  and  the 
officer's  hand,  after  hanging  a  moment  suspended  in  the 
air,  fell  to  his  side.      The  Courtlander  laughed  aloud. 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  "  is  my  young  cock  of  Plassen- 
burg so  mightily  particular  that  he  cannot  have  an 
honest  soldier's  hand  upon  his  shoulder  ?  " 

"I  am  not  accustomed,"  said  Johann  Pyrmont,  with 
dignity,  "  to  have  men's  hands  upon  my  shoulder.  It  is 
not  our  custom  !  " 

The  soldier  laughed  a  huge  earth-shaking  laugh  of 
merriment. 

"  Faith  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  are  early  begun,  my  lad, 
that  men's  hands  are  so  debarred.  '  Not  our  custom  ! ' 
says  he.  Why,  I  warrant,  by  the  fashion  of  your  coun- 
tenance, that  the  hands  of  ladies  are  not  so  unwelcome. 
Ha  !  you  blush  !  Here,  Paul  Strelitz,  come  hither  and 
see  a  young  gallant  that  blushes  at  a  word,  and  owns 
that   he   is   more   at   home   with   ladies  than  with   rouoh 

to 

soldiers." 

A  great  bearded  Bor-Russian  came  out  of  the  guard- 
room, stretching  himself  and  yawning  like  one  whose 
night  has  been  irregular. 

'^  What  's  ado  ?  —  what  is  't,  that  you  fret  a  man  in 
his  beauty-sleep?"  he  said.  "Oh,  this  young  gentle- 
man !      Yes,  I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  the  Princess  Mar- 

40 


An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 

garet  saw  him  yesterday,  Loo.  Does  he  go  to  visit  her 
so  early  this  morning  ?  He  loses  no  time,  i'  faith  !  But 
he  had  better  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  Wasp,  if  the 
Princess  give  him  many  of  those  glances  of  hers,  half 
over  her  shoulder — you  know  the  kind.  Otto." 

At  this  the  first  officer  reiterated  his  jest  about  his 
hand  on  Johann's  shoulder,  being  of  that  mighty  faction 
which  cannot  originate  the  smallest  joke  without  imme- 
diately wearing  it  to  the  bone. 

The  secretary  began  to  be  angry.  His  temper  was 
not  long  at  the  longest.  He  had  not  thought  of  having 
to  submit  to  this  when  he  became  a  secretary. 

"  I  am  quite  willing,  sir  captain,"  he  said,  with  haughty 
reserve,  "  that  your  hand  should  be  —  where  it  ought  to 
be — on  your  sword-handle.  For  in  that  case  my  hand 
will  also  be  on  mine,  and  very  much  at  your  service, 
But  in  my  country  such  liberties  are  not  taken  between 
strangers  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Otto  the  guardsman,  "  do  men  not 
embrace  each  other  when  they  meet,  and  kiss  each  other 
on  either  cheek  at  parting  ?  How  then,  so  mighty  par- 
ticular about  hands  on  shoulders  ?  Answer  me  that,  my 
young  secretary." 

"  For  me,"  said  Johann,  instantly  losing  his  head  in 
the  hotness  of  his  indignation,  "  I  would  have  you  know 
that  I  only  kiss  ladies,  or  permit  them  to  kiss  me  !  " 

The  Courtlander  and  the  Bor-Russian  roared  unani- 
mously. 

"  Is  he  not  precious  beyond  words,  this  youngling,  ch, 
Paul  Strelitz  ?  "  cried  the  first.  "  I  would  we  had  him 
at  our  table  of  mess.  What  would  our  commander 
say  to  that  ?  How  he  would  gobble  and  glower  !  '  As 
for  me,  I  only  kiss  ladies!'  Can  you  imagine  it, 
Paul  ?  " 

41 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

But  just  then  there  came  a  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs 
across  the  wide  spaces  of  the  palace  front,  into  which 
the  bright  forenoon  sun  was  now  beating,  and  a  lady  of 
tall  figure  and  a  head  all  a-ripple  with  sunny  golden  curls 
dashed  up  at  a  canter,  the  stones  spraying  forward  and 
outward  as  she  reined  her  horse  sharply  with  her  hands 
low. 

"The  Princess  Margaret!"  said  the  first  officer. 
"  Stand  to  it,  Paul.  Be  a  man,  secretary,  and  hold  your 
tongue." 

The  two  officers  saluted  stiffly,  and  the  lady  looked 
about  for  someone  to  help  her  to  descend.  She  observed 
Johann  standing,  still  haughtily  indignant,  by  the  gate. 

"Come  hither  !"  she  said,  beckoning  with  her  finger. 

"  Give  me  your  hand  !  "  she  commanded. 

The  secretary  gave  it  awkwardly,  and  the  Princess 
plumped  rather  sharply  to  the  ground. 

"  What !  Do  they  not  teach  you  how  to  help  ladies 
to  alight  in  Plassenburg  ?  "  queried  the  Princess.  "  You 
accompany  the  new  ambassador,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  first  I  ever  helped  in  my  life,"  said 
Johann,  simply.     "  Mostly " 

"  What !  I  am  the  first  ?  You  jest.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible. There  are  many  ladies  in  Plassenburg,  and  I 
doubt  not  they  have  noted  and  distinguished  a  youth  like 
you." 

The  secretary  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  so,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  I  have  never  been 
remarked  by  any  lady  in  Plassenburg  in  my  life." 

The  Courtlander,  standing  stiff  at  the  salute,  turned 
his  head  the  least  fraction  of  an  inch  towards  Paul 
Strelitz  the  Bor-Russian. 

"  He  sticks  to  it.  Lord  !  I  wish  that  I  could  lie  like 
that !      I  would  make  my  fortune  in  a  trice,"  he  muttered. 


An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 

" '  As  for  me,  I  only  kiss  ladies  ! '      Did  you  hear  him, 
Paul  ?  " 

"I  hear  him.  He  lies  like  an  archbishop — a  divine 
liar,"  muttered  the  Bor-Russian  under  his  breath. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  Princess,  never  taking 
her  eyes  off  the  young  man's  face,  "  you  w^ill  be  good 
enough  to  escort  me  to  the  prince's  room." 

"  I  am  going  there  myself,"  said  the  secretary, 
curtly. 

"  Certainly  they  do  not  teach  you  to  say  pretty 
things  to  ladies,''  answered  the  Princess.  "  I  know 
many  that  could  have  bettered  that  speech  without  stress- 
ing themselves.  Yet,  after  all,  I  know  not  but  I  like 
your  way  best  !  "  she  added,  after  a  pause,  again  smiling 
upon  him. 

As  she  took  the  young  man's  arm,  a  cavalier  suddenly 
dashed  up  on  a  smoking  horse,  which  had  evidently  been 
ridden  to  his  limit.  He  was  of  middle  size,  of  a  figure 
exceedingly  elegant,  and  dressed  in  the  highest  fashion. 
He  wore  a  suit  of  black  velvet  with  yellow  points  and 
narrow  braiding  also  of  yellow,  a  broad  golden  sash  girt 
his  waist,  and  his  face  was  handsome,  his  mustachios 
long,  fierce,  and  curling.  His  eye  glittered  like  that  of 
a  snake,  with  a  steady,  chill  sheen,  unpleasant  to  linger 
upon.  He  swung  from  his  horse,  casting  the  reins  to 
the  nearest  soldier,  who  happened  to  be  our  Courtland 
officer  Otto,  and  sprang  up  the  steps  after  the  Princess 
and  her  young  escort. 

"  Princess,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  Princess  Margaret,  I 
beg  your  pardon  most  humbly  that  I  have  been  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  be  late  in  my  attendance  upon  you.  The 
Prince  sent  for  me  at  the  critical  moment,  and  I  was 
bound  to  obey.  May  I  now  have  the  honour  of  con- 
ducting you  to  the  summer  parlour?" 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  Princess  turned  carelessly,  or  rather,  to  tell  it  ex~ 
rfctly,  she  turned  her  head  a  little  back  over  her  shoulder 
w'th  a  beautiful  gesture  peculiar  to  herself. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said  coldly,  "  I  have  already 
requested  this  gentleman  to  escort  me.  I  shall  not  need 
you.  Prince  Ivan  !  " 

And  she  went  in,  bending  graciously  and  even  con- 
fidentially towards  the  secretary,  on  whose  arm  her  hand 
reposed. 

The  cavalier  in  banded  yellow  stood  a  moment  with  an 
expression  on  his  face  at  once  humorous  and  malevolent. 

He  gazed  after  the  pair  till  the  door  swung  to  and 
they  disappeared.  Then  he  turned  bitterly  towards  the 
nearest  officer. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  who  Is  that  lout  in  black,  who 
looks  like  a  priest-cub  out  for  a  holiday  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  secretary  of  the  embassy  of  Plassenburg  !  " 
said  Otto  the  guardsman,  restraining  a  desire  to  put  his 
information  in  another  form.  He  did  not  love  this 
imperious  cavalier ;  he  was  a  Courtlander  and  holding 
a  Muscovite's  horse.  The  conjunction  brought  some- 
thing into  his  throat. 

"  Ha,"  said  the  young  man  in  black  and  yellow,  still 
gazing  at  the  closed  door,  "  I  think  I  shall  go  into  the 
rose-garden  ;  I  may  have  something  further  to  say  to  the 
most  honourable  the  secretary  of  the  embassy  of  Plassen- 
burg !  "  And  summoning  the  officer  with  a  curt  mono- 
syllable to  bring  his  horse,  he  mounted  and  rode  off. 

"  I  wonder  he  did  not  give  me  a  silver  groat,"  said  the 
Courtlander.  "The  secretary  sparrow  may  be  dainty 
and  kiss  only  ladies,  but  this  Prince  of  Muscovy  has  not 
pretty  manners.     I  hope  he  does  not  marry  the  Princess." 

"  Not  with  her  goodwill,  I  warrant,"  said  Paul  Strelitz  ; 
"  either  you  or  I  would  have  a  better  chance,  unless  the 

44 


An  Ambassador's  Ambassador 

Prince  Ludwig   compel   her   to   it  for  the  good   of  the 
State!" 

"  Prince  Wasp  seemed  somewhat  disturbed  in  his 
mind,"  said  the  Courtlander,  chuckling.  "  I  wish  I 
were  on  guard  in  the  rose-garden  to  see  the  meeting  of 
Master  Prettyman  and  His  Rova^  Highness  the  Hornet 
of  Muscovy !  ** 


rS 


CHAPTER   VII 

H.R.H.    THE    PRINCESS    IMPETUOSITY 

THE  Princess  Margaret  spoke  low  and  confidentially 
to  the  secretary  of  embassy  as  they  paced  along, 
Johann  Pyrmont  felt  exceedingly  awkward.  For  one 
thing,  the  pressure  of  the  Princess's  hand  upon  his  arm 
distracted  him.  He  longed  to  have  her  on  the  otner 
side. 

"  You  are  noble  ? "  she  queried,  with  a  look  down  at 
him. 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  the  secretary  quickly.  The  oppo- 
site had  never  occurred  to  him.  He  had  not  considered 
the  pedigree  of  travelling  merchants. 

The  Princess  thought  that  it  was  not  at  all  of  course, 
but  continued. 

"  I  understand  —  you  would  learn  diplomacy  under  a 
man  so  wise  as  the  High  Councillor  von  Dessauer.  I 
have  heard  of  such  sacrifices.  My  brother,  who  is  very 
learned,  went  to  Italy,  and  they  sav  (though  he  only 
laughs  when  I  ask  him)  worked  with  his  own  hands  in 
one  of  the  places  where  they  print  the  new  sort  of  books 
instead  of  writing  them.     Is  it  not  wonderful  ?  " 

"  And  he  is  so  brave,"  said  the  secretary,  whose  inter- 
est suddenly  increased  ;  "  he  won  the  tournament  yester- 
day, did  he  not  ?  I  saw  you  give  him  the  crown  of  bay. 
I  had  not  thought  so  brave  a  man  could  be  learned  also." 

"  Oh,  my  brother  has  al'  the  perfections,  yet  thinks 

4- 


H.R.H.  the  Princess  Impetuosity 

more  of  every  shaveling  monk  and  unfledged  chorister 
than  of  himself.  I  will  introduce  you  to  him  now.  I 
am  a  pet  of  his.  You  will  love  him,  too  —  when  you 
know  him,  that  is  !  " 

"  Devoutly  do  I  hope  so  !  "  said  the  secretary  under 
his  breath. 

But  the  Princess  heard  him. 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  she  said  gaily;  "I  love  him, 
therefore  so  will  you  !  " 

"  An  agreeable  princess  —  I  shall  get  on  well  with 
her  !  "  thought  Johann  Pyrmont.  Then  the  attention  of 
his  companion  flagged  and  she  was  silent  and  distrait  for 
a  little,  as  they  paced  through  courts  and  colonnades 
which  to  the  secretary  seemed  interminable.  At  inter- 
vals the  Princess  silently  indicated  the  way  by  a  pressure 
upon  his  arm  which  was  almost  more  than  friendly. 

"  We  walk  well  together,"  she  said  presently,  rousing 
herself  from  her  reverie. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  secretary,  who  was  thinking 
that  it  was  a  long  way  to  the  summer  parlour,  where  he 
was  to  meet  the  Prince. 

"  I  fear,"  said  the  Princess  Margaret  quaintly,  "  that 
you  are  often  in  the  habit  of  walking  with  ladies  !  Your 
step  agrees  so  well  with  mine  !  " 

"I  never  walk  with  any  others!"  the  secretary  an- 
swered without  thought. 

"  What  ? "  cried  the  Princess,  quickly  taking  her 
hand,  "  and  you  swore  to  me  even  now  that  you  never 
helped  a  lady  from  her  horse  in  your  life  !  " 

It  was  an  impasse,  and  the  secretary,  recalled  to  him- 
self, blushed  deeply. 

"  I  see  so  few  ladies,"  he  stammered,  in  a  tremor  lest 
he  should  have  betrayed  himself.  "  I  live  in  the  country 
—  oniy  my  maid  —  " 

47 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

«  Heaven's  own  sunshine !  "  cried  the  Princess  with 
a  little  scream  of  laughter.  "  Have  the  pretty  young 
men  of  Plassenburg  maids  and  tirewomen  ?  Small 
wonder  that  so  few  of  them  ever  visit  us  !  No  wonder 
you  live  on  in  that  happy  country  !  " 

The  secretary  recovered  his  presence  of  mind  rapidly. 

"  I  mean,"  he  explained  ;  "  the  old  woman  Bette,  my 
nurse,  who  still,  though  now  I  am  grown  up,  comes 
every  night  to  see  that  I  have  all  I  want  and  to  fold  my 
clothes.      I  have  no  other  women  about  me." 

"You  are  sure  that  Bette,  who  comes  for  your  clothes 
and  to  see  that  you  have  all  you  want,  is  old  ?  "  persisted 
the  Princess,  keeping  her  eyes  sharply  upon  her  com- 
panion. 

"  She  is  so  old  that  I  never  remember  her  to  have 
been  any  younger,"  replied  the  secretary,  with  an  air  of 
engaging  candour. 

"  I  believe  you,"  cried  the  outspoken  Princess ;  "  no 
one  can  lie  with  such  eyes.  Strange  that  I  should  have 
liked  you  from  the  first.  Stranger  still  that  in  an  hour 
JL  should  tell  you  so.     Your  arm  !  " 

The  secretary  immediately  put  his  hand  within  the 
arm  of  the  Princess  Margaret,  who  turned  upon  him 
instantly  in  profoundest  astonishment, 

"  Is  this  also  a  Plassenburg  custom  ?  "  she  said  sharply, 
"  Was  it  old  Bette  who  taught  you  thus  to  take  a  lady's 
arm  ?  It  is  otherwise  thought  of  in  ignorant  Court- 
land  !  " 

The  young  man  blushed  and  looked  down. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  a  common  fashion  with 
us.      I  crave  your  pardon  if  in  aught  I  have  offended." 

The  Princess  Margaret  looked  quizzically  at  her  com- 
panion. 

"!'   faith,"  she   said,  "I  have   ever  had  r  curiosity 

48 


H.R.H.  the  Princess  Impetuosity 

about  foreign  customs.  This  one  I  find  not  amiss.  Do 
it  again  !  " 

And  with  her  own  princessly  hand  she  took  Johann's 
slender  brown  fingers  and  placed  them  upon  her  arm. 

"  These  are  indeed  fitter  for  the  pen  than  for  the 
sword  !  "  she  said,  a  saying  which  pleased  the  owner  of 
them  but  little. 

The  Courtlander  Otto,  who  had  been  on  guard  at  the 
gate,  had  meantime  been  relieved,  and  now  followed  the 
pair  through  the  corridors  to.  the  summer  palace  upon  an 
errand  which  he  had  invented. 

At  this  point  he  stood  astonished. 

*'  I  would  that  Prince  Wasp  were  here.  We  should 
see  his  sting.  He  is  indeed  a  marvel,  this  fellow  from 
Plassenburg.  Glad  am  I  that  he  does  not  know  little 
Lenchen  up  in  the  Kaiser  Platz.  No  one  of  us  would 
have  a  maid  to  his  name,  if  this  gamester  abode  in 
Courtland  and  made  the  running  in  this  style  !  " 

The  Princess  and  her  squire  now  went  out  into  the 
open  air.  For  she  had  led  him  by  devious  ways  almost 
round  the  entire  square  of  the  palace  buildings.  They 
passed  into  a  thick  avenue  of  acacias  and  yews,  through 
the  arcades  of  which  they  walked  silently. 

For  the  Princess  was  content,  and  the  secretary  afraid 
of  making  any  more  mistakes.  So  he  let  the  "  foreign 
custom  "  go  at  what  it  might  be  worth,  knowing  that  if 
he  tried  to  better  it,  ten  to  one  a  worse  thing  might  be- 
fall. 

"  T  have  changed  my  mind,"  said  the  Princess,  sud- 
denly stopping  and  turning  upon  her  companion ;  "  I 
shall  not  introduce  you  to  my  brother.  If  you  come 
from  the  Ambassador,  you  must  have  matters  of  import- 
ance to  speak  of.  I  will  rest  me  here  in  an  arbor  and 
come  in  later.     Then,  if  you  are  good,  you  shall  perhaps 

4J 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

be  permitted  to  reconduct  me  to  the  palace,  and  as  we  go, 
you  can  teach  me  any  other  pleasant  foreign  customs  !  " 

The  secretary  bowed  low,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

^'  You  do  not  say  that  you  are  glad,"  cried  the  Princess, 
coming  impulsively  a  step  nearer.  "  I  tell  you  there  is 
not  one  youth  —  but  no  matter.  I  see  that  it  springs 
from  your  innocence,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  not 
like  you  the  better  for  it." 

Behind  an  evergreen.  Otto  the  Courtlander  nearly  dis- 
covered himself  at  this  declaration. 

"His  innocence — magnificent  Karl  the  Great.  This 
Plassenburger's  innocence  —  God  wot !  He  will  not  die 
of  it,  but  he  may  be  the  death  of  me.  Oh,  for  the 
opinion  of  Prince  Wasp  of  Muscovy  upon  such  inno- 
cence !  " 

"  Come,"  said  the  Princess,  holding  out  her  hands, 
"  bid  me  good-bye  as  you  do  in  your  country.  There 
is  the  Prince,  my  brother's,  horse  at  the  door.  You 
must  hasten,  or  he  will  be  gone  ere  you  do  your  mes- 
sage !  " 

At  this  the  heart  of  the  youth  gave  a  great  leap. 

"  The  Prince  !  "  he  cried,  "  he  will  be  gone  I  "  And 
would  have  bolted  off  without  a  word. 

"  Never  mind  the  Prince  —  think  of  me,"  commanded 
the  Princess,  stamping  her  foot.  "  Give  me  your  hand. 
I  am  not  accustomed  to  ask  twice.  Now  bid  me  good- 
bye." 

With  his  eyes  on  the  white  charger  by  the  door  the 
secretary  hastily  took  the  Princess  by  both  hands. 
Then,  with  his  mind  still  upon  the  departing  Prince,  he 
drew  her  impulsively  towards  him,  kissed  her  swiftly 
upon  both  cheeks,  and  finished  by  imprinting  his  iips 
heartily  upon  her  mouth  ! 

5° 


H.R.H.  the  Princess  Impetuosity 

Then,  still  with  an  ardent  glance  upward  at  the  palace 
front,  he  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  steps  of  the  summer 
pavilion. 

The  Princess  Margaret  stood  rooted  to  the  ground. 
A  flush  of  shame,  anger,  or  some  other  violent  emotion 
rose  to   her  brow  and   stayed  there. 

Then  she  called  to  mind  the  straightforward,  un- 
clouded eyes,  the  clear  innocence  of  the  youth's  brow, 
and  the  smile  came  slowly  back  to  her  lips. 

"After  all,  it  is  doubtless  only  his  foreign  custom," 
she  mused.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  I  like  foreign  cus- 
toms," she  added,  "  they  are  interesting  to  learn  !  " 

Behind  his  tree  the  Courtlander  stood  gasping  with 
astonishment,  as  well  he  might. 

"  God  never  made  such  a  fellow,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Well  might  he  say  he  never  kissed  any  but  ladies. 
Such  abilities  were  lost  upon  the  cheeks  of  mere  men. 
An  hour's  acquaintance  —  nay,  less  —  and  he  hath  kissed 
the  Princess  Margaret  upon  the  mouth.  And  she,  in- 
stead of  shrieking  and  calling  the  guard  to  have  the 
insulter  thrust  into  the  darkest  dungeon  in  Courtland, 
falls  to  musing  and  smiling.  A  devil  of  a  secretary  this  ! 
Of  a  certainty  I  must  have  little  Lenchen  out  of  town 
this  very  night." 


S* 


CHAPTER   VIII 

JOHANN    IN    THE    SUMMER    PALACE 

AT  the  door  of  the  summer  palace  not  a  soul  was 
on  guard.  A  great  quiet  surrounded  it.  The 
secretary  could  hear  the  gentle  lapping  of  the  river  over  the 
parapet,  for  the  little  pavilion  had  been  erected  overhang- 
ing the  water,  and  the  leaves  of  the  linden-trees  rustled 
above.  These  last  were  still  clamorous  with  the  hum 
of  bees,  whose  busy  wings  gave  forth  a  sort  of  dull, 
booming  roar,  comparable  only  to  the  distant  noise  of 
breakers  when  a  roller  curls  slowly  over  and  runs  league- 
long  down  the  sandy  beach. 

It  was  with  a  beating  heart  Johann  Pyrmont  knocked. 

"  Enter !  "  said  a  masculine  voice  within,  with  start- 
ling suddenness. 

And  opening  the  door  and  grasping  his  papers,  the 
secretary  suddenly  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the 
hero  of  the  tournament. 

The  Prince  was  standing  by  a  desk  covered  with 
books  and  papers.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  long  quill, 
wherewith  he  had  been  writing  in  a  great  book  which 
lay  on  a  shelf  at  his  elbow.  For  a  moment  the  secretary 
could  not  reconcile  this  monkish  occupation  with  his 
idea  of  the  gallant  white-plumed  knight  whom  he  had 
seen  flash  athwart  the  lists,  driving  a  clean  furrow  through 
the  hostile  ranks  with  his  single  spear. 

But  he  remembered  his  sister's  description,  and  looked 

5^ 


Johann  in  the  Summer  Palace 

at  him  with  the  reverence  of  the  time  for  one  to  whon» 
all  knowledge  was  open, 

"  You  have  business  with  me,  young  sir  ?  "  said  the 
Prince,  courteously,  turning  upon  the  youth  a  regard 
^uU  of  dignity  and  condescension.  The  knees  of 
Johann  Pyrmont  trembled.  For  a  full  moment  his 
tongue  refused  its  office. 

"  I  come,"  he  said  at  last,  "  to  convey  these  docu- 
ments to  the  most  noble  Prince  of  Courtland  and 
Wilna."  He  gained  courage  as  he  spoke,  for  he  had 
carefully  rehearsed  this  speech  to  Dessauer.  "  I  am 
acting  as  secretary  to  the  Ambassador,  —  in  lieu  of  a 
better.  These  are  the  proposals  concerning  alliance 
between  the  realms  proposed  by  our  late  master,  the 
Prince  Karl, before  his  death;  and  now,  it  is  hoped, to  be 
ratified  and  carried  out  between  Courtland  and  Plassen- 
burg  under  his  successors,  the  Princess  Helene  and  her 
husband." 

The  tall,  fair-haired  Prince  listened  carefully.  His 
luminous  and  steady  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  through  every 
disguise  and  to  read  the  truth  in  the  young  architect- 
secretary.  He  took  the  papers  from  the  hand  of  Johann 
Pyrmont,  and  laid  them  on  a  desk  beside  him,  without, 
however,  breaking  the  seals. 

"  I  will  gladly  take  charge  of  such  proposals.  They 
do  as  much  credit,  I  doubt  not,  to  the  sagacity  of  the 
late  Prince,  your  great  master,  as  to  the  kindliness  and 
good-feeling  of  your  present  noble  rulers.  But  where  is 
the  Ambassador?  I  had  hoped  to  sec  High  Councillor 
von  Dessauer  for  my  own  sake,  as  well  as  because  of  the 
ancient  kindliness  and  correspondence  that  there  was 
between  him   and   my  brother." 

"His  brother,"  thought  the  secretary.  "I  did  not 
know  he  had  a  brother  —  a   lad,  I  suppose  in  whoni 

52 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Dessauer  had  an  interest.  He  is  ever  considerate  to  the 
young!  "  But  aloud  he  answered,  "I  grieve  to  tell  you, 
my  lord,  that  the  High  Councillor  von  Dessauer  is  not 
able  to  leave  his  bed  this  morning.  He  caught  a  chill 
yesterday,  either  riding  hither  or  at  the  tournay,  and  it 
hath  induced  an  old  trouble  which  no  leech  has  hitherto 
been  skilful  enough  entirely  to  heal.  He  will,  I  fear, 
be  kept  close  in   his  room  for  several  days." 

"  I  also  am  grieved,"  said  the  Prince,  with  grave 
regret,  seeing  the  youth's  agitation,  and  liking  him  for 
it.  "  I  am  glad  he  keeps  the  art  to  make  himself  so 
beloved.     It  is  one  as  useful  as  unusual  in  a  diplomatist !  " 

Then  with  a  quick  change  of  subject  habitual  to  the 
man,  he  said,  "  How  found  you  your  way  hither?  The 
corridors  are  both  confusing  and  intricate,  and  the  guards 
ordinarily  somewhat  exacting." 

The  tall  youth  smiled. 

"  I  was  in  the  best  hands,"  he  said.  "  Your  sister, 
the  Princess  Margaret,  was  good  enough  to  direct  me, 
being  on  her  way  to  her  own  apartment." 

"  Ah,"  muttered  the  Prince,  smiling  as  if  he  knew  his 
sister,  "  this  is  the  thoroughfare  to  the  Princess's  apart- 
ment, is  it  ?     The  Moscow  road  to  Rome,  I  wot  !" 

He  said  no  more,  but  stood  regarding  the  youth, 
whose  blushes  came  and  went  as  he  stood  irresolute 
before   him. 

"A  modest  lad,"  said  the  Prince  to  himself;  "this 
ingenuousness  is  particularly  charming  in  a  secretary  of 
legation.      I  must  see  more  of  him." 

Suddenly  a  thought  appeared  to  cross  his  mind. 

"  Why,  did  I  not  hear  that  you  came  to  us  by  way  of 
Kernsberg  ?  "  he  said. 

The  blushes  ceased  and  a  certain  pallor  showed  under 
the  tan,  which  overspread  the  young  man's  face   as  the 


Johann  in  the  Summer  Palace 

Prince  continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  him.  He  could  on'v 
bow  in  assent. 

"  Then,  doubtless,  you  would  see  the  Duchess 
Joan  ?  "  he  continued.  "  Is  she  very  beautiful  ?  They 
say  so." 

*•'  I  do  not  think  so.  I  never  thought  about  it  at  all  !  " 
answered  the  secretary.  Suddenly  he  found  himself 
plunged  into  deep  waters,  just  as  he  had  seen  the  port  of 
safety  before  him. 

The  Prince  laughed,  throwing  back  his  head  a  little. 

"  That  is  surely  a  strange  story  to  bring  here  to 
Courtland,"  he  said,  "  whither  the  lady  is  to  come  as 
a  bride  ere  long  I  Especially  strange  to  tell  to  me, 
who—  " 

"I  ask  your  pardon,"  said  Johann  Pyrmont ;  "your 
Highness  must  bear  with  me.  I  have  never  done  an 
errand  of  such  moment  before,  having  mostly  spent  my 
life  among  soldiers  and  (he  was  on  his  guard  now)  in  a 
fortress.  For  diplomacy  and  word-play  I  have  no  skill 
—  no,  nor  any  liking  !  " 

"  You  have  chosen  your  trade  strangely,  then,"  smiled 
the  Prince,  "  to  proclaim  such  tastes.  Wherefore  are 
you  not  a  soldier  ?  " 

"  I  am  !  I  am  !  "  cried  Johann  eagerly  ;  "  at  least,  as 
much  as  it  is  allowed  to  one  of  my  —  of  my  strength  to 
be." 

"Can  you  fence  ?  "  asked  the  Prince,  "  or  play  with 
the  broad  blade  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  both  !  " 

"  Then,"  continued  his  inquisitor,  "  you  must  surely 
have  tried  yourself  against  the  Duchess  Joan.  They  say 
she  has  wonderful  skill.  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  I 
have  heard  her  called.  You  have  often  fenced  with 
her  ?  " 

55 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"^  No,"  said  the  secretary,  truthfully,  "  I  have  nevei 
fenced  with  the  Duchess  Joan." 

"  So,"  said  the  Prince,  evidently  in  considerable  sur- 
prise;   "  then  you  have  certainly  often  seen  her  fence  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  Duchess  fence,  but  I  have 
often  seen  others  fence  with  her." 

"  You  practise  casuistry,  surely,"  cried  the  Prince. 
"I  do  not  quite  follow  the  distinction." 

But,  nevertheless,  the  secretary  knew  that  the  differ- 
ence existed.  He  would  have  given  all  the  proceeds  and 
emoluments  of  his  office  to  escape  at  this  moment,  but 
the  eye  of  the  Prince  was  too  steady. 

"  I  doubt  not,  young  sir,"  he  continued,  "  that  you 
were  one  of  the  mighty  army  of  admirers  which,  they 
say,  continually  surrounds  the  Duchess  of  Hohenstein  !  " 

''  Indeed,  you  are  in  great  error,  my  lord,  said  Johann 
Pyrmont,  with  great  earnestness  and  obvious  sincerity ; 
"  I  never  in  my  life  said  one  single  word  of  love  to  the 
Lady  Joan  —  no,  nor  to  any  other  woman  !  " 

"  No,"  said  a  new  voice  from  the  doorway,  that  of 
the  Princess  Margaret,  "  but  doubtless  you  took  great 
pleasure  in  teaching  them  foreign  customs.  And  I  am 
persuaded   you   did   it  well,  too  !  " 

The  Prince  left  his  desk  for  the  first  time  and  came 
smilingly  towards  his  sister.  As  he  stooped  to  kiss  her 
hand,  Johann  observed  that  his  hair  seemed  already  to  bs 
thin  upon  the  top  of  his  head. 

"  He  is  young  to  be  growing  bald,"  he  said  to  himself  5 
'"■  but,  after  all  (with  a  sigh),  that  does  not  matter  in  a 
hian   so   noble  of   mien  and    in    every  way   so   great    a 


prince." 


'  The  impulsive  Princess  Margaret  scarcely  permitted 
Her  hand  to  be  kissed.  She  threw  her  arms  warmly 
about   her  brother's  neck,  and  then,  as  quickly  releasing 

55 


Johann  in  the  Summer  Palace 

him,  turned  to  the  secretary,  who  stood  deferentially  look- 
ing out  of  the  window,  that  he  might  not  observe  the 
meeting  of  brother  and  sister. 

"  I  told  you  he  was  my  favourite  brother,  and  that 
you  would  love  him,  too,"  she  said.  "You  must  leave 
your  dull  Plassenburg  and  come  to  Courtland.  I,  the 
Princess,  ask  you.      Do  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  come  again  to  Courtland,"  answered 
the  secretary  very  gravely. 

"  This  young  man  knows  the  Duchess  Joan  of 
Hohenstein,"  said  the  Prince,  still  smiling  quietly;  "  but 
1  do  not  think  he  admires  her  very  greatly — -an  opinion 
he  had  better  keep  to  himself  if  he  would  have  a  quiet 
life  of  it  in  Courtland  !  " 

"Indeed,"  said  the  Princess  brusquely.  "I  wonder 
not  at  it.  I  hear  she  is  a  forward  minx,  and  at  any  rate 
she  shall  never  rule  it  over  me,  I  will  run  away  with  a 
dog-whipper  first." 

"  Your  husband  would  have  occasion  for  the  exercise 
of  his  art,  sister  mine  !  "  said  the  Prince.  "  But,  indeed, 
you  must  not  begin  by  misliking  the  poor  young  maid 
who  will  be  so  far  from  home." 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  Princess,  laughing  outright,  "  I  mis- 
like  her  not  a  whit.  But  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world 
why,  because  you  are  all  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship, 
this  young  man  or  any  other  should  be  compelled  to  do 
likewise." 

And  right  princess-like  she  looked  as  she  pouted  her 
proud  little  lips  and  with  hei  foot  patted  the  polished 
oak. 

"  But,"  she  went  on  again  to  her  brother,  "  your  poor 
beast  out  there  hath  almost  fretted  himself  into  ribands 
by  this  time.  If  you  have  done  with  this  noble  youth,  I 
have  ^  fancy  to  hear  him  tell  of  the  countries  wherein 

57 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand     . 

he  has  sojourned.  And,  in  addition,  I  have  promised  to 
show  him  the  carp  in  the  ponds.  You  must  have  given 
him  a  great  enough  dose  of  diplomatics  and  canon  lav/ 
by  this  time.  You  have,  it  seems  to  me,  spent  half  the 
day  in  each  other's  society." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  returned  the  Prince,  smiling 
again,  but  going  towards  the  desk  to  put  away  the  papers 
which  Dessauer's  secretary  had  brought,  "  on  the  con- 
trary, we  talked  almost  solely  about  women  —  a  subject 
not  uncommon  when  man  meets  man." 

"  But  somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  the  dignity  of  your 
calling,  my  brother  !  "  said  the  Princess  pointedly. 

"  And  wherefore  ?  "  he  said,  turning  quickly  with  the 
papers  still  in  his  hand.  "If  to  guide,  to  advise,  to  rule, 
are  of  my  profession,  surely  women,  who  are  the  more 
important  half  of  the  human  race,  cannot  be  foreign  to 
my  calling  !" 

"  Come,"  she  said,  hearing  the  word  without  attend- 
ing to  the  sense,  "  I  also  like  things  foreign.  The  noble 
secretary  has  promised  to  teach  me  some  more  of  them  !  " 
The  tolerant  Prince  laughed.  He  was  evidently 
accustomed  to  his  sister's  whims,  and  knowing  how  per- 
fectly harmless  they  were,  he  never  interfered  with 
them. 

"  A  good  day  to  you,"  he  said  to  the  young  man,  by 
way  of  dismissal.  "  If  I  do  not  see  you  again  before 
you  leave,  you  must  promise  me  to  come  back  to  the 
wedding  of  the  Duchess  Johanna.  In  that  event  you 
must  do  me  the  honour  to  be  my  guest  on  that  occasion." 
The  red  flooded  back  to  Johann's  cheek. 
"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  bowing  ;  "  I  will  come  back 
to  the  wedding  of  the  Duchess  Joan." 

"  And  you  promise  to  be  my  guest  ?   I  insist  upon  it," 
continued  the  kindly  Prince,  willing  to  gratify  his  sister, 

5*^ 


Johann  in  the  Summer  Palace 

who  was  smiling  approval.  "  I  insist  that  you  shall  let 
me  be  your  host." 

"I  hope  to  be  your  guest,  most  noble  Prince,"  said 
the  secretary,  looking  up  at  him  quickly  as  he  went 
through   the   door. 

It  was  a  singular  look.  For  a  moment  it  checked 
and  astonished  the  Prince  so  much  that  he  stood  still  on 
the  threshold. 

"  Where  have  I  seen  a  look  like  that  before  ?  "  he 
mused,  as  he  cast  his  memory  back  into  the  past  without 
success.      "  Surely,  never  on  any  man's  face  before." 

Which,  after  all,  was  likely  enough. 

But  putting  the  matter  aside  as  curious,  but  of  no 
consequence,  the  Prince  rode  away  towards  that  part  of 
the  city  from  which  the  towers  of  the  minster  loomed 
up.  A  couple  of  priests  bowed  low  before  him  as  he 
passed,  and  the  people,  standing  still  to  watch  his  broad 
shoulders  and  erect  carriage,  said  one  to  another,  "  Alas  ! 
alas  !  the  truest   Prince  of  them  all  —  to  be  thus  thrown 

away  !  " 

And  these  were  the  words  which  the  secretary  heard 
from  a  couple  of  guards  who  stood  at  the  gate  of  the 
rose  garden,  as  they,  too,  stood  looking  pensively  after 
the   Prince. 

"  Wait,"  said  Johann  Pyrmont  to  himself;  "  wait,  I 
will  yet  show  them  whether  he  is  thrown  away  or  not." 


59 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    ROSE    GARDEN 

THE  rose  garden  of  the  summer  palace  of  Courtland 
was  a  paradise  made  for  lovers'  whisperings. 
Even  now,  when  the  chill  of  autumn  had  begun  to  blow 
through  its  bowers,  it  was  over-clambered  with  late- 
blooming  flowers.  Its  bowers  were  creeper-tangled. 
Trees  met  over  paths  bedded  with  fallen  petals,  a  shade 
in  sunshine,  a  shelter  in  rain,  delightful  in  both. 

It  was  natural  that  so  fair  a  Princess,  taking  such  a 
sudden  fancy  to  a  young  man,  should  find  her  way 
where  the  shade  was  deepest  and  the  labyrinth  most 
entangled. 

But  this  secretary  Johann  of  ours,  being  creditably 
hard  of  heart,  would  far  rather  have  hied  him  back  to 
old  Dessauer  with  his  news.  More  than  anything  he 
desired  to  be  alone,  that  he  might  think  over  the  events 
of  the  morning. 

But  the  Princess  Margaret  had  quite  other  intentions. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  began,  "  that  I  might  well  have 
lodged  you  in  a  dungeon  cell  for  that  which  in  another 
had  been  dire  insolence  ?  " 

They  were  pacing  a  long,  dusky  avenue  of  tall  yew 
trees.  The  secretary  turned  towards  her  the  blank  look 
of  one  whose  thoughts  have  been  far  away.  But  the 
Princess  rattled  on,  heedless  of  his  mood. 

^*  Nevertheless,  I  forgive  you,"  she  said ;  "  after  all,  I 

60 


The  Rose  Garden 

myself  asked  you  to  teach  me  your  foreign  customs. 
If  any  one  be  to  blame,  it  is  I.  But  one  thing  I  would 
impress  upon  you,  sir  secretary  :  do  not  practise  these 
outland  peculiarities  before  my  brothers.  Either  of 
them  might  look  with  prejudice  upon  such  customs  being 
observed  generally  throughout  the  city.  I  came  back 
chiefly  to  warn  you.  We  do  not  want  that  handsome 
head  of  yours  (which  I  admit  is  well  enough  in  its  way, 
as,  being  a  man,  you  are  doubtless  aware)  taken  off  and 
stuck  on  a  pole  over  the  Strasburg  Gate  !  " 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  the  secretary  detached  him- 
self sufficiently  from  his  reveries  upon  the  interview  in 
the  summer  palace  to  understand  what  the  Princess  was 
driving  at. 

"All  this  mighty  pother,  all  because  I  kissed  her  on 
the  cheek,"  he  thought,  "  A  Princess  of  Courtland  is  no 
such  mighty  thing  —  and  why  should  I  not?  —  Oh,  of 
course,  I  had  forgotten  again.  I  am  not  now  the 
person  I  was." 

But  what  need  to  tell  with  what  infinite  condescension 
the  Princess  took  the  young  man's  hand  and  read  his  for- 
tune, dwelling  frowningly  on  the  lines  of  love  and  life  ? 

"  You  have  too  pretty  a  hand  for  a  man,"  she  said  ; 
"  Why  is  it  hard  here  and  here  .''  " 

"  That  is  from  the  sword  grip,"  said  the  secretary, 
with  no  small  pride. 

"  Do  you,  then,  fence  well  ?  I  wish  I  could  see 
you,"  she  cried  clapping  her  hands.  "How  splendid  it 
would  be  to  see  a  bout  between  you  and  Prince  Wasp 
—  that  is  the  Prince  Ivan  of  Muscovy,  I  mean.  He  is 
a  great  fencer,  and  also  desires  to  be  a  great  friend  of 
mine.  He  would  give  something  to  be  sitting  here 
teaching  me  how  they  take  hands  and  bid  each  other 
good-bye  in   Bearland.     They  rub  noses,  I  have   heard 

6i 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

say,  a  custom  which,  to  my  thinking,  would  be  more 
provocative  than  satisfactory.  I  like  your  Plassenburg 
fashion  better." 

Whereat  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  that  the  secretary 
should  arouse  himself  out  of  his  reverie  and  do  his  part. 
If  the  Princess  of  Courtland  chose  to  amuse  herself  with 
him,  well,  it  was  harmless  on  either  side  —  even  more 
so  than  she  knew.  Soon  he  would  be  far  away.  Mean- 
while he  must  not  comport  himself  like  a  puking  fool. 

"  I  think  in  some  wise  it  were  possible  to  improve 
upon  the  customs  even  of  Plassenburg,"  said  the  Princess 
Margaret,  after  certain  experiments ;  "  but  tell  me,  since 
you  say  that  we  are  to  be  friends,  and  I  have  admitted 
your  plea,  what  is  your  fortune  ?  Nay,  do  you  know 
that  I  do  not  even  know  your  name  —  at  least,  not 
from  your  own   lips." 

For,  headlong  as  she  had  proved  herself  in  making 
love  according  to  her  limited  extent,  yet  a  vein  of  Baltic 
practicality  was  hidden  beneath  her  impetuosity. 

"  My  father  was  the  Count  von  Loen,  and  I  am  his 
heir  !  "  said  the  secretary  carefully  ;  "  but  I  do  not  usually 
call  myself  so.     There  are  reasons  why  I  should  not." 

Which  there  were,  indeed  —  grave  reasons,  too. 

"  Then  you  are  the  Count  von  Loen  ? "  said  the 
Princess.  "  I  seem  to  have  heard  that  name  some- 
where.    Tell  me,  are  you  the  Count  von  Loen  ?  " 

"  I  am  certainly  the  heir  to  that  title,"  said  the 
secretary,  grilling  within  and  wishing  himself  a  thousand 
miles  away. 

"  I  must  go  directly  and  tell  my  brother.  He  will  be 
back  from  the  cathedral  by  this  time.  I  am  sure  he  did 
not  know.  And  the  estates  —  a  little  involved,  doubt- 
less, like  those  of  most  well-born  folk  in  these  days  ? 
Are  they  in  your  sole  right  ?  " 

62 


The  Rose  Garden 

"  The  estates  are  extensive.  They  are  not  encum- 
bered, so  far  as  I  know.  They  are  all  in  my  own  right," 
explained  the  newly  styled  Count  with  perfect  truth. 
But  within  him  he  was  saying,  "  God  help  me  !  I  get 
deeper  and  deeper.  What  a  whirling  chaos  a  single  lie 
leads  one  into  !  Heaven  give  me  speedy  succour  out  of 
this  !  "  And  as  he  thought  of  his  troubles,  the  noble 
count,  the  swordsman,  the  learned  secretary,  could  scarce 
restrain  a  desire  to  break  into  hysterical  sobbing. 

A  new  thought  seemed  to  strike  the  Princess  as  he 
was  speaking. 

"  But  so  young,  so  handsome,"  she  murmured,  "  so 
apt  a  pupil  at  love  !  "  Then  aloud  she  said,  "  You  are 
not  deceiving  me  ?     You  are  not  already  betrothed  ?  " 

"  Not  to  any  woman  ! "  said  the  deceitful  Count, 
picking  his  words  with  exactness. 

The  gay  laugh  of  the  Princess  rang  out  prompt  as  an 
echo. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  be  engaged  to  a  man  !  "  she 
cried.  "  But  now  conduct  me  to  the  entrance  of  my 
chambers"  (here  she  reached  him  her  hand).  "I  like 
you,"  she  added  frankly,  looking  at  him  with  unflinching 
eyes.  "  I  am  of  the  house  of  Courtland,  and  we  are 
accustomed  to  say  what  we  think  — the  women  especially. 
And  before  I  carry  out  their  wretched  contract  and 
marry  the  Prince  Wasp,  I  will  do  even  as  I  said  to  my 
brother,  I  will  run  away  and  wed  a  dog-whipper  !  "  "  But 
perhaps  I  may  do  better  than  either  !  "  she  said  in  her 
heart,  nodding  determinedly  as  she  looked  at  the  hand- 
some youth  before  her,  who  now  stood  with  his  down- 
cast eyes  upon  the  ground. 

They  were  almost  out  of  the  yew-tree  walk,  and  the 
voice  of  the  Princess  carried  far,  like  that  of  most  very 
impulsive  persons.     It  reached  the  ears  of  a  gay  young 

*>3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

fashionable,  who  had  just  dismounted  at  the  gate  which 
led  from  the  rose  garden  into  the  wing  of  the  palace 
inhabited  by  the  Princess  Margaret  and   her  suite. 

*^  Now,"  said  the  Princess,  "  I  will  show  you  how  apt 
a  pupil  I  make.  Tell  me  whether  this  is  according  to 
the  best  traditions  of  Plassenburg  !  "  And  taking  his 
face  between  her  hands  she  kissed  him  rapidly  upon 
either  cheek  and  then  upon  the  lips. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  "  I  wonder  what  my  noble 
brothers  would  say  to  that !  I  will  show  them  that 
Margaret  of  Courtland  can  choose  both  whom  she  will 
kiss  and  whom  she  will  marry  !  " 

And  flashing  away  from  him  like  a  strong-winged 
bird  she  fled  upward  into  her  chambers.  Then,  some- 
what dazed  by  the  rapid  succession  of  emotions,  Johann 
the  secretary  stepped  out  of  the  green  glooms  of  the  yew 
tree  walk  into  the  broad  glare  of  the  September  sun  and 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Prince  Wasp, 


<«4 


CHAPTER   X 

PRINCE    WASP 

NOW  Ivan,  Prince  of  Muscovy,  had  business  in 
Courtland  very  clear  and  distinct.  He  came  to 
woo  the  Princess  Margaret,  which  being  done,  he  wished 
to  be  gone.  There  was  on  his  side  the  certainty  of  an 
excellent  fortune,  a  possible  succession,  and,  in  any  case, 
a  pretty  and  wilful  wife.  But  as  he  thought  on  that  last 
the  Wasp  smiled  to  himself.  In  Moscow  there  were 
ways,  once  he  had  her  there,  of  taming  the  most  wilful 
of  wives. 

As  to  the  inheritance  —  well,  it  was  true  there  were 
two  lives  between  ;  but  one  of  these,  in  Prince  Ivan's 
mind,  was  as  good  as  nought,  and  the  other — .  In 
addition,  the  marriage  had  been  arranged  by  their  several 
fathers,  though  not  under  the  same  penalty  as  that  of  the 
Prince  of  Courtland  and  Joan  Duchess  of  Hohenstein. 

Prince  Wasp  had  not  favourably  impressed  the  family 
at  the  palace.  His  manners  had  the  strident  edge  and 
blatant  self-assertion  of  one  who,  unlicensed  at  home, 
has  been  flattered  abroad,  deferred  to  everywhere,  and 
accustomed  to  his  own  way  in  all  things.  Nevertheless, 
Ivan  had  managed  to  make  himself  popular  with  the 
townsfolk,  on  account  of  the  largess  which  he  lavished 
and  the  custom  which  his  numerous  suite  brought  to  the 
town.  Specially,  he  had  been  successful  in  attaching 
the  rabble  of  the  place  to  his  cause  ;  and  already  he  had 
5  6$ 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

headed  ofF  two  other  wooers  who  had  come  from  the 
south   to  solicit  the  smiles  of  the   Princess  Margaret. 

"  So,"  he  said,  as  he  faced  the  secretary,  now  some- 
what compositely  styled,  Johann,  Count  von  Loen,  "  so, 
young  springald,  you  think  to  court  a  foolish  princess. 
You  play  upon  her  with  your  pretty  words  and  graceful 
compliments.  That  is  an  agreeable  relaxation.  It  passes 
the  time  better  than  fumbling  with  papers  in  front  of  an 
escritoire.  Only  —  you  have  in  addition  to  reckon  with 
me,  Ivan,  hereditary  Prince  of  Muscovy." 

And  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  across  his  body  he  drew 
his  sword  from  its  sheath. 

The  sword  of  the  young  secretary  came  into  his  hand 
with  equal  swiftness.  But  he  answered  nothing.  A 
curious  feeling  of  detachment  crept  over  him.  He  had 
held  the  bare  sword  before  in  presence  of  an  enemy,  but 
never  till  now  unsupported. 

"  I  do  you  the  honour  to  suppose  you  noble,"  said 
Prince  Wasp,  "  otherwise  I  should  have  you  flogged  by 
my  lacqueys  and  thrown  into  the  town  ditch.  I  have 
informed  you  of  my  name  and  pretensions  to  the  hand 
of  the  Princess  Margaret,  whom  you  have  insulted.  I 
pray  you  give  me  yours  in  return." 

"  I  am  called  Johann,  Count  von  Loen,"  answered 
the  secretary  as  curtly  as  possible. 

"  Pardon  the  doubt  which  is  in  my  mind,"  said  the 
Prince  of  A'luscovy,  with  a  black,  sneering  bitterness 
characteristic  of  him,  "  but  though  I  am  well  versed  in 
all  the  noble  families  of  the  north,  and  especially  in 
those  of  Plassenburg,  where  I  resided  a  full  year  in  the 
late  Prince's  time,  I  am  not  acquainted  with  any  such 
title." 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  mine  by  right  and  by  birthright," 
retorted  the  secretary,  "  as  I  am  well  prepared  to  main- 

6G 


Prince  Wasp 


tain  with  my  sword  in  the  meantime.  And,  after,  yoy.. 
can  assure  yourself  from  the  mouth  of  High  States 
Councillor  Dessauer  that  the  name  and  style  are 
mine.  Your  ignorance,  howeyer,  need  not  defer  your 
chastisement." 

"  Follow  mc.  Count  von  Loen,"  said  the  Prince,  "  I 
am  too  anxious  to  deal  with  your  insolence  as  it  deserves 
to  quarrel  as  to  names  or  titles,  legal  or  illegitimate. 
My  quarrel  is  with  your  fascinating  body  and  prettyish 
face,  the  beauty  of  which  I  will  presently  improve  with 
some  good  Northland  steel." 

And  with  his  lithe  and  springy  walk  the  Prince  of 
Muscovy  passed  again  into  the  alleys  of  the  rose  garden 
till  he  reached  the  first  open  space,  where  he  turned 
upon  the  secretary. 

"We  are  arrived,"  he  said;  "our  business  is  so 
pressing,  and  will  be  so  quickly  finished,  that  there  is 
no  need  for  the  formality  of  seconds.  Though  I  hon- 
our you  by  crossing  my  sword  with  yours,  it  is  a  mere 
formality.  I  have  such  skill  of  the  weapon,  as  I  dare 
say  report  has  told  you,  that  you  may  consider  yourself 
dead  already.  I  look  upon  your  chastisement  no  more 
seriously  than  I  might  the  killing  of  a  fly  that  has  vexed 
me  with  its  buzzing.      Guard  !  " 

But  Johann  Pyrmont  had  been  trained  in  a  school 
which  permitted  no  such  windy  preludes,  and  with  the 
fencer's  smile  on  his  face  he  kept  his  silence.  His 
sword  would  answer  all  such  boastings,  and  that  in 
good  time. 

And  so  it  fell  out. 

From  the  very  first  crossing  of  the  swords  Prince 
Wasp  found  himself  opposed  by  a  quicker  eye,  a  firmer 
wrist,  a  method  and  science  infinitely  superior  to  his 
own.     His   most  dashing  attack  was  repelled  with  ap- 

67 


Joan  ol  the  Sword  Hand 

parent  ease,  yet  with  a  subtlety  which  interposed  nothing 
but  the  most  delicate  of  guards  and  parries  between 
Prince  Ivan  and  victory.  This  gradually  infuriated  the 
Prince,  till  suddenly  losing  his  temper  he  stamped  his 
foot  in  anger  and  rushed  upon  his  foe  with  the  true 
Muscovite  fire. 

Then,  indeed,  had  Johann  need  of  all  his  constant  prac- 
tice with  the  sword,  for  the  sting  of  the  Wasp  flashed  to 
kill  as  he  struck  straight  at  the  heart  of  his  foe. 

But  lo  !  the  blade  was  turned  aside,  the  long-delayed 
answering  thrust  glittered  out,  and  the  secretary's  sword 
stood  a  couple  of  hand-breadths  in  the  boaster's  shoulder. 

With  an  effort  Johann  recovered  his  blade  and  stood 
ready  for  the  riposte  ;  but  the  wound  was  more  than 
enough.  The  prince  staggered,  cried  out  some  unin- 
telligible words  in  the  Muscovite  language,  and  pitched 
forward  slowly  on  his  face  among  the  trampled  leaves 
and  blown  rose-petals  of  the  palace  garden. 

The  secretary  grew  paler  than  his  wont,  and  ran  to 
lift  his  fallen  enemy.  But,  all  unseen,  other  eyes  had 
watched  the  combat,  and  from  the  door  by  which  they 
had  entered,  and  from  behind  the  trees  of  the  surround- 
ing glade,  there  came  the  noise  of  pounding  footsteps 
and  fierce  cries  of  "  Seize  him  1  Kill  him  !  Tear  him 
to  pieces  !  He  has  slain  the  good  Prince,  the  friend  of 
the  people  !     The  Prince  Ivan  is  dead  !  " 

And  ere  the  secretary  could  touch  the  body  of  his 
unconscious  foe,  or  assure  himself  concerning  his  wound, 
he  found  himself  surrounded  bv  a  veiling  .crowd  of  citv 
loafers  and  gallows-rats,  many  of  them  rag-clad,  others 
habited  in  heterogeneous  scraps  of  cast-off  clothing,  or 
articles  snatched  from  clothes-lines  and  bleaching  greens, 
and  long  mourned,  doubtless,  by  the  good  wives  of 
Courtland. 

68 


Prince  Wasp 


The  secretary  eyed  this  unkempt  horde  with  haughty 
scorn,  and  his  fearless  attitude,  as  he  striped  his  stained 
sword  through  his  handkerchief  and  threw  the  linen 
away,  had  something  to  do  with  the  fact  that  the  rabble 
halted  at  the  distance  of  half-a-dozen  yards  and  for 
many  minutes  contented  themselves  with  hurling  oaths 
and  imprecations  at  him.  Johann  Pyrmont  kept  his 
sword  in  his  hand  and  stood  by  the  body  of  his  fallen 
foe  in  disdainful  silence  till  the  arrival  of  fresh  contin- 
gents through  the  gate  aroused  the  spirit  of  the  crowd. 
Knives  and  sword-blades  began  to  gleam  here  and  there 
in  grimy  hands,  where  at  first  there  had  been  only 
staves  and  chance-snatched   gauds  of  iron. 

"  At  him  !  Down  with  him  !  He  can  only  strike 
once  !  "  These  and  similar  cries  inspirited  the  rabble 
of  Courtland,  great  haters  of  the  Plassenburg  and  the 
Teutonic  west,  to  rush  in  and  make  an  end. 

At  last  they  did  come  on,  not  all  together,  but  in 
irregular,  undisciplined  rushes.  Johann's  sword  streaked 
out  this  way  and  that.  There  was  an  answering  cry  oi" 
pain,  a  turmoil  among  the  assailants  as  a  wounded  man 
whirled  his  way  backward  out  of  the  press.  But  this 
could  not  last  for  long.  The  odds  were  too  o-reat. 
The  droning  roar  of  hate  from  the  edges  of  the  crowd 
grew  louder  as  new  and  ever  newer  accretions  joined 
themselves  to  its  changing  fringes. 

Then  suddenly  came  a  voice  :  "  Back,  on  your  lives, 
dogs  and  traitors  !  Germans  to  the  rescue !  Danes, 
Teuts,  Northmen    to    the    rescue !  " 

Following  the  direction  of  the  sound,  Johann  saw  a 
young  man  drive  through  the  press,  his  sword  bare  in 
his  hand,  his  eyes  glittering  with  excitement.  It  was 
the  Danish  prisoner  of  the  guard-hall  at  Kernsberg,  that 
same  Sparhawk  who  had  fought  with  Werner  von  Orseln. 

69 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  crowd  stared  back  and  forth  betwixt  him  and 
that  other  whom  he  came  to  succour.  Far  more  than 
ever  his  extraordinary  likeness  to  the  secretary  ap- 
peared. Apparent  enough  at  any  time,  it  was  ac- 
centuated now  by  similarity  of  clothing.  For,  like 
Johann  Pyrmont,  the  Sparhawk  was  attired  in  a  black 
doublet  and  trunk  hose  of  scholastic  cut,  and  as  they 
stood  back  to  back,  little  difference  could  be  noted,  save 
that  the  newcomer  was  a  trifle  the  taller. 

"  Saint  Michael  and  the  holy  angels  !  "  cried  the 
leader  of  the  crowd,  "  can  it  be  that  there  are  scores  of 
these  Plassenburg  black  crows  in  Courtland,  slaying 
whom  they  will  ?  Here  be  two  of  them  as  like  as  two 
peas,  or  a  couple  of  earthen  pipkins  from  the  same 
potter's    wheel !  " 

The  Dane  flung  a  word  over  his  shoulder  to  his 
companion. 

"  Pardon  me,  your  grace,"  said  the  Sparhawk,  "  if  I 
stand  back  to  back  with  you.  They  are  dangerous. 
We  must  watch  well  for  any  chance  of  escape." 

The  secretary  did  not  answer  to  this  strange  style  of  ad- 
dress, but  placed  himself  back  to  back  with  his  ally,  and 
their  two  bright  blades  waved  every  way.  Only  that  of 
Johann  Pyrmont  was  already  reddened  well-nigh  half  its 
length. 

A  second  time  the  courage  of  the  crowd  worked  itself 
up,  and  they  came  on.  v 

"  Death  to  the  Russ,  to  the  lovers  of  Russians  !  " 
cried  the  Sparhawk,  and  his  blade  dealt  thrusts  every 
way.  But  the  pressure  increased  every  moment. 
Those  behind  cried,  "  Kill  them  !  "  For  they  were  out 
of  reach  of  those  two  shining  streaks  of  steel.  Those 
before  would  have  gladly  fallen  behind,  but  could  not,  for 
the    forward    thrust    of  their    friends.       Still    the    ring 

70 


Prince  Wasp 

narrowed,  and  the  pair  of  gallant  fighters  would  doubt- 
lessly have  been  swept  away  had  not  a  diversion  come 
to   alter    the    face   of   things. 

Out  of  the  gate  which  led  to  the  wing  of  the  palace 
occupied  by  the  Princess  Margaret  burst  a  little  com- 
pany of  halberdiers,  at  sight  of  whom  the  crowd  gave 
suddenly  back.     The  Princess  herself  was  with  them. 

"  Take  all  prisoners,  and  bring  thcni  within,"  she 
cried,  "  My  brother  is  from  home,  or  you  dare  not 
thus    brawl   in   the   very  precincts   of  the  palace !  " 

And  at  her  words  the  soldiers  advanced  rapidly.  A 
further  diversion  was  caused  by  the  Sparhawk  suddenly 
cleaving  a  way  through  the  crowd  and  setting  off  at  full 
speed  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  Whereupon  the 
rabble,  glad  to  combine  personal  safety  with  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  chase,  took  to  their  heels  after  him.  But, 
light  and  unexpected  in  motion  as  his  namesake,  the 
Sparhawk  skimmed  down  the  alleys,  darted  sideways 
through  gates  which  he  shut  behind  him  with  a  clash  of 
iron,  and  finally  plunged  into  the  green  rush  of  the  river, 
swimming  safe  and  unhurt  to  the  further  shore,  whither, 
in  the  absence  of  boats  at  this  particular  spot,  none  could 
pursue  him. 


n 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    KISS    OF    THE    PRINCESS    MARGARET 

''  I  "^HE  Princess  and  her  guard  were  left  with  only  the 
A  secretary  and  the  unconscious  body  of  the  Prince 
of  Muscovy. 

"Sirrah,"  she  cried  severely  to  the  former,  "is  this 
the  first  use  you  make  of  our  hospitality,  thus  to  brawl 
in  the  street  underneath  my  very  windows  with  our 
noble  guest  the  Prince  Ivan  ?  Take  him  to  my  brother's 
room,  and  keep  him  safely  there  to  await  our  lord's  re- 
turn. We  shall  see  what  the  Prince  will  say  to  this. 
And  as  for  this  wounded  man,  take  him  to  his  own 
apartments,  and  let  a  surgeon  be  sent  to  him.  Only  not 
in  too  great  a  hurry,"  she  added  as  an  afterthought  to 
the  commander  of  her  little  company  of  palace  guards. 

So,  merely  detailing  half-a-dozen  to  carry  the  Prince 
to  his  chambers,  the  captain  of  the  guard  conducted  the 
secretary  to  the  very  room  in  which  an  hour  before  he 
had  met  the  brother  of  the  Princess.  Here  he  was  con- 
fined, with  a  couple  of  guards  at  the  door.  Nor  had  he 
been  long  shut  up  before  he  heard  the  quick  step  of 
the  Princess  coming  along  the  passage-way.  He  could 
distinguish  it  a  long  way  ofi\,  for  the  summer  palace 
was  built  mostly  of  wood,  and  every  sound  was  clearly 
audible. 

"  So,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut,  "  you 
have  killed  Prince  Wasp  !  " 

?3 


The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

"  I  trust  not,"  said  the  secretary  gravely ;  "  I  meant 
only  to  wound  him.  But  as  he  attacked  me  I  could 
not  do  otherwise  than   defend    myself." 

"Tut,"  cried  the  Princess,  "  I  hope  you  have  killed 
him.  It  will  be  good  riddance,  and  most  like  the  Mus- 
covites will  send  an  army  — which,  with  your  Plassen- 
burg  to  help  us,  will  make  a  pretty  fight.  It  serves  him 
right,  at  all  events,  for  Prince  Wasp  must  always  be 
thrusting  his  sting  into  honest  folk.  He  will  be  none 
the  worse  for  some  of  his  own  poison  applied  at  a  ra- 
pier's point  to  keep  him  quiet  for  some  few  days." 

But  Johann  was  not  in  a  mood  to  relish  the  jubilation 
of  the  Princess.  He  grew  markedly  uneasy  in  his  mind. 
Every  moment  he  anticipated  that  the  Prince  would  re- 
turn. A  trial  would  take  place,  and  he  did  not  know 
what  might  not  be  discovered. 

The  Princess  Margaret  delivered  him  from  his 
anxiety. 

"  The  laws  are  strict  against  duelling,"  she  continued. 
''  The  Prince  Ivan  is  in  high  favour  with  my  elder 
brother,  and  it  will  be  well  that  you  are  seen  no  more 
in  Courtland  —  for  the  present,  that  is.  But  in  a  little 
the  Prince  Wasp  will  die  or  he  will  recover.  In  either 
case  the  afFaii  will  blow  over.  Then  you  will  come 
back  to  teach   me   more   foreign    customs." 

She  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand.  Johann  kissed  it, 
perhaps  without  the  fervour  which  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  a  brisk  young  man  thus  highly  favoured  by 
the  fairest  and  sprightliest  of  princesses. 

"  To-night,"  she  went  on,  there  will  be  a  boat  be- 
neath that  window.  It  will  be  manned  by  those  whom 
I  ca,n  trust.  A  ladder  of  rope  will  be  thrown  to  your 
casement.  By  it  you  will  descend,  and  with  a  good 
horse  and  a  sufficient  escort  you  c^n  ride  either  to  Plas» 

73 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

senburg — or  to  Kernsberg,  which  is  nearer,  and  tell 
Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  that  her  sister  the  Princess 
Margaret  sends  you  to  her.  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to 
the  minx,  though  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  like  her.  She  is 
so  forward,  they  say.  But  be  ready  at  the  hour  of  mid- 
night.    Who  was  that  youth  who  fled  as  we  came  up  ?  " 

"A  Danish  knight  who  came  hither  in  our  train  from 
Kernsberg,"  replied  Johann.  "  But  for  him  I  should 
have  been  lost  indeed  !  " 

"  I  must  have  a  horse  also  for  him  !  "  cried  the  Prin- 
cess. "  He  will  surely  watch  and  join  you,  knowing 
that  his  danger  is  as  great  as  yours.  Hearken — they 
are  mourning  for  their  precious  Prince  Wasp.  To- 
morrow they  will  howl  louder  if  by  good  hap  he  goes 
home  to  —  purgatory  !  " 

And  through  the  open  windows  came  a  sound  of  dis- 
tant shoutings  as  they  carried  the  wounded  Prince  to 
his  lodging. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Princess,  "  for  the  present,  fare  you 
well  —  in  the  colder  fashion  of  Courtland  this  time,  for 
the  sake  of  the  guards  at  the  door.  But  remember  that 
you  are  more  than  ever  plighted  to  me  to  be  my  in- 
structor. Count  von  Loen  !  " 

She  went  to  the  door,  and  with  her  fingers  on  the 
handle  she  turned  her  about  with  a  pretty,  vixenish  ex- 
pression. "  I  am  so  glad  you  stung  the  Wasp.  I  love 
you  for  it !  "  she  said. 

But  after  she  had  vanished  with  these  words  the 
secretary  grew  more  and  more  downcast  in  spirit.  Even 
this  naive  declaration  of  affection  failed  to  cheer  him. 
He  sat  down  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  most  melan- 
c  holy  anticipations. 

At  six  a  servitor  silently  entered  with  a  w^H'-chogei] 
and  begijtifuily  cooked   nqeal,  of  which   th§   §ecmaf,y 

u 


The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

partook  sparingly.  At  seven  it  grew  dark,  and  at  ten  ali 
(vas  quiet  in  the  city.  The  river  rushed  swiftly  beneath, 
and  the  noise  of  it,  as  the  water  lapped  against  the  stone 
foundations  of  the  summer  palace,  helped  to  disguise  the 
noise  of  oars,  as  the  boat  a  dark  shadow  upon  greyish 
water,  detached  itself  from  the  opposite  shore  and  ap- 
proached the  window  from  whose  open  casement  Johann 
Pyrmont  looked  out. 

A  low  whistle  came  from  underneath,  and  presently 
followed  the  soft,  reeving  whisk  of  a  coil  of  rope  as  it 
passed  through  the  window  and  fell  at  his  feet.  The 
secretary  looked  about  for  something  to  fasten  it  to,  and 
finally  decided  upon  the  iron  uprights  of  the  great  desk 
at  which  the  Prince  had  stood  earlier  in  the  day. 

No  sooner  was  this  done  than  Johann  set  his  foot  on 
the  top  round  and  began  to  descend.  It  was  with  a 
sudden  emptiness  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach  and  a  great 
desire  to  cry  out  for  some  one  to  hold  the  ladder  steady 
that  the  secretary  found  himself  swaying  over  the  dark 
water.  The  boat  seemed  very  far  away,  a  mere  spot  of 
blackness  upon  the  river  face. 

But  presently,  and  while  making  up  his  mind  to  prac- 
tise the  gymnastic  of  rope  ladders  quietly  at  homx,  he 
made  out  a  man  holding  the  ladder,  while  two  others 
with  grappled  boat-hooks  kept  the  boat  steady  fore 
and  aft. 

A  shrouded  figure  sat  in  the  stern.  The  secretary 
seemed  rather  to  find  himself  in  a  boat  which  rose 
swiftly  to  meet  him  than  to  descend  into  it.  He  was 
handed  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  rowers  till  he 
reached  the  shrouded  figure  in  the  stern,  out  of  the  folds 
of  whose  enveloping  cloak  a  small,  warn  hand  shot 
forth  and  pulled  him  down  upon  the  seat. 

"  Draw   this  about  you.  Count,"  a  lov»    voice  whis 

75 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

pered  ;  and  in  another  moment  Johann  found  himself 
under  the  shelter  of  one  cloak  with  that  daring  slip  of 
nobility,  the  Princess  Margaret  of  Courtland. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  come ;  there  is  no  danger.  These 
fellows  are  of  my  household  and  devoted  to  me.  I  did 
not  dare  to  risk  anything  going  wrong.  Besides,  I  am  a 
princess,  and  —  why  need  not  I  say  it  .?  —  I  wanted  to 
come.  I  wanted  to  see  you  again,  though,  Indeed,  there 
is  small  chance  of  that  in  such  a  night.  And  'tis  as 
well,  for  I  am  sure  my  hair  is  every  way  about  my 
face." 

"  The  horses  are  over  there,"  she  added  after  a  pause ; 
"we  are  almost  at  the  shore  now  —  alas,  too  soon  !  But 
I  must  not  keep  you.  I  want  you  to  come  back  the 
sooner.  And  remember,  if  Prince  Wasp  gets  better  and 
worries  me  too  much,  or  my  brother  is  unkind  and  in- 
sists upon  marrying  me  to  the  Bear,  I  will  take  one  or 
two  of  these  fellows  and  come  to  seek  you  at  Plassen- 
burg,  so  make  your  reckoning  with  that.  Count  von 
Loen.  As  I  said,  what  is  the  use  of  being  a  princess  if 
you  cannot  marry  whom  you  will  ?  Most,  I  know, 
marry  whom  they  are  told ;  but  then  they  have  not  the 
spirit  of  a  Baltic  weevil,  let  alone  that  of  Margaret  of 
Courtland." 

They  touched  the  shore  almost  at  the  place  where  the 
Sparhawk  had  landed  In  the  morning  when  he  escaped 
from  the  city  rabble,  and  a  stone's  throw  further  up  the 
bank  they  found  the  horses  waiting,  ready  caparisoned 
for  the  journey. 

Two  men  were,  by  the  Princess's  orders,  to  accom- 
pany Johann. 

But  with  great  thoughtfulness  she  had  provided  a 
fourth  horse  for  the  companion  who,  equally  with  him- 
self, was   under   the   ban  of  the  law  for  wounding  the 

75 


The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

iieges  of  the  Prince  of  Courtland  within  the  precincts  of 
the  palace. 

"  He  cannot  have  gone  far,"  said  the  Princess.  "  He 
would  certainly  conceal  himself  till  nightfall  in  the  first 
convenient  hiding-place.  He  will  be  on  the  look-out 
for  any  chance  to  release  you." 

And  the  event  proved  the  wisdom  of  her  prophecy. 
For  so  soon  as  he  had  distinguished  the  slim  figure  of  the 
secretary  landing  from  the  boat  the  Sparhawk  appeared 
on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  though  for  the  moment  he  was 
still  unseen  by  those  below. 

"  Good-bye !  For  the  present,  good-bye,  dear  Prin- 
cess," said  Johann,  with  his  heart  in  his  voice.  "  God 
knows,  I  can  never  thank  or  repay  you.  My  heart  is 
heavy  for  that.  I  am  unworthy  of  all  your  goodness. 
It  is  not  as  you  think  — " 

He  paused  for  words  which  might  warn  without  re- 
vealing his  secret ;  but  the  Princess,  never  long  silent, 
struck  in. 

"  Let  there  be  no  talk  of  parting  except  for  the 
moment,"  she  said.  "  Go,  you  are  my  knight.  Per- 
haps one  day,  if  you  do  not  forget  me,  I  may  be  yet  far 
kinder  to  you  !  " 

And  with  a  kiss  and  a  little  sob  the  Princess  sent  hei 
lover,  more  and  more  downcast  and  discouraged  by 
reason  of  her  kindness,  upon  his  way.  So  much  did  his 
obvious  depression  affect  Margaret  of  Courtland,  that 
after  the  secretary,  with  one  of  the  men-at-arms  leading 
the  spare  horse,  had  reached  the  top  of  the  river  bank, 
she  suddenly  bade  the  rowers  wait  a  moment  before 
casting  loose  from  the  land. 

"  Your  sword  !  Your  sword  !  "  she  called  aloud  risk- 
ing any  listener  in  her  eagerness  ;  "  you  have  forgotten 
your  sword." 

77 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  Sparhavvk  had  come  up  with 
the  httle  party  of  travellers.  He  kissed  the  hand  of 
Johann  Pyrmont,  placed  him  on  his  beast,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  mount  his  steed  with  a  glad  heart,  when  the 
voice  from  beneath  startled  him. 

"  Do  not  trouble,  I  will  bring  the  sword,"  said  the 
Sparhawk  to  Johann,  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  putting 
the  reins  into  the  secretary's  hands,  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  flung  himself  down  the  bank. 
The  Princess  had  leaped  nimbly  ashore,  and  was  stand- 
ing with  the  sheathed  sword  in  her  hand. 

When  she  saw  the  figure  come  bounding  towards  her 
down  the  pebbly  bank,  she  gave  a  little  cry,  and,  drop- 
ping the  scabbard,  she  threw  her  arms  impulsively  about 
the  Sparhawk's  neck. 

"  I  could  not  let  you  go  like  that  —  without  ever  tell- 
ing  you  that  I  loved  you  —  really,  I  mean,"  she  whis- 
pered, while  the  youth  stood  petrified  with  astonishment, 
without  sound  or  motion.  "  I  will  marry  none  but  you 
—  neither  Prince  Ivan  nor  another.  A  woman  should 
not  tell  a  man  that,  lest  he  despise  her ;  but  a  Princess 
may,  because  the  man  dare  not  tell  her." 


(C 


And  what  said  you  ?  "  asked  the  s.ecretary  of  his 
companion,  as  they  rode  together  through  the  night  out 
on  their  road  to  Kernsberg. 

"  Why,  I  said  nothing  —  speech  was  not  needed," 
quoth  the  Dane  coolly. 

"  She  kissed  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Sparhawk,  "  I  could  not  help  that  i  " 

"  But  what  said  you  to  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  kissed  her  back  again,  as  a  man 
ought !  "  he  made  answer. 

"  Poor  Princess,"  mused  the  secretary  ;  "  it  is  more 

78 


The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

than  I  could  ever  have  done  for  her  !  "  Aloud  he  said, 
"  But  you  do  not  love  her  —  you  had  not  seen  her 
before  !      What  did  you  kiss  her   for  ?  " 

For  these  things  are  hidden  from  women. 

The  Dane  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  the  dark. 

"  Well,  I  take  what  the  gods  send,"  he  replied.  "She 
was  a  pretty  girl,  and  her  Princess-ship  made  no  differ- 
ence in  her  kissing,  so  far  as  I  could  see.  I  serve  you  to 
the  death,  my  Lady  Duchess  j  but  if  a  Princess  loves  me 
by  the  way,  why,  I  am  ready  to  indulge  her  to  the  limit 
of  her  desires  !  " 

"  You  are  an  accommodating  youth,"  sighed  the  secre- 
tary, and  forthwith  returned  to  his  own  melancholy 
thoughts. 

And  as  they  rode  westward  they  heard  all  around  them 
the  rustle  of  corn  in  the  night  wind.  Stacks  of  hay 
shed  a  sweet  scent  momently  across  their  path,  and  more 
than  once  fruit-laden  branches  swept  across  their  faces. 
For  they  were  passing  through  the  garden  of  the  Baltic, 
and  its  fresh  beauty  was  never  fresher  than  on  that 
September  night  when  these  four  rode  out  of  Courtland 
towards  the  distant  blue  hills  on  which  was  perched 
Kernsberg,  built  like  an  eagle's  nest  on  a  crag  overfrown- 
ing  the  wealthy  plain. 

At  the  first  boundaries  of  the  group  of  little  hill 
principalities  the  two  soldiers  were  dismissed,  suitably 
rewarded  by  Johann,  to  carry  the  news  of  safety  back  to 
their  wayward  and  impulsive  mistress.  And  thence- 
forward the  Sparhawk  and  the  secretary   rode  on  alone. 

At  the  little  chalet  among  the  hills  where  the  Duchess 
Joan  had  so  suddenly  disappeared  they  found  two  of  her 
tire-maidens  and  her  aged  nurse  impatiently  awaiting 
their  mistress.  To  thern  entered  that  composite  and 
puzzling  youth  the   ex-architect    and    secretary    of  the 

n 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

embassy  of  Plassenburg,  Johann,  Count  von  Loen.  And, 
wonder  of  wonders,  in  an  hour  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 
was  riding  eagerly  towards  her  capital  city  with  her  due 
retinue,  as  if  she  had  been  only  taking  a  little  summer 
breathing  space  at  a  country  seat. 

Her  entrance  created  as  little  surprise  as  her  exit. 
For  as  to  her  exits  and  entrances  alike  the  Duchess 
consulted  no  man,  much  less  any  woman.  Werner 
Von  Orseln  saluted  as  impassively  as  if  he  had  seen  his 
mistress  an  hour  before,  and  the  acclamations  of  the 
guard   rang  out  as  cheerfully   as  ever. 

Joan  felt  her  spirits  rise  to  be  once  more  in  her  own 
land  and  among  her  own  folk.  Nevertheless,  there  was 
a  new  feeling  in  her  heart  as  she  thought  of  the  day  of 
her  marriage,  when  the  long-planned  bond  of  brother- 
hood heritage  should  at  last  be  carried  out,  and  she 
should  indeed  become  the  mistress  of  that  great  land  into 
which  she  had  adventured  so  strangely,  and  the  bride  of 
the  Prince  —  her  Prince,  the  most  noble  man  on  whom 
her  eyes  had  ever  rested. 

Then  her  thoughts  flew  to  the  Princess  who  had 
delivered  her  out  of  peril  so  deadly,  and  her  soul  grew 
sick  and  sad  within  her — not  at  all  lest  her  adventure 
should  be  known.  She  cared  not  so  much  about  that. 
(Perhaps  some  day  she  would  even  tell  him  herself  when 
—  well,  after!) 

But  since  she  had  ridden  to  Courtland,  Joan,  all 
untouched  before,  had  grown  suddenly  tender  to  the 
smarting    of   another    woman's    heart. 

"  It  was  in  no  wise  my  fault,"  she  told  herself,  which 
in  a  sense  was  true. 

But  conscience,  being  a  thing  not  subject  to  reason, 
dealt  not  a  whit  the  more  easily  withi  her  on  that 
account. 

So 


The  Kiss  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

It  was  six  months  afterwards  that  the  Sparhawk,  who 
had  been  given  the  command  of  a  troop  of  good  Hohen- 
stein  lancers,  asked  permission  to  go  on  a  journey. 

He  had  been  palpably  restless  and  uneasy  ever  since 
his  return,  and,  in  spite  of  immediate  favour  and  the 
prospect  of  yet  further  promotion,  he  could  not  settle  to 
his  work. 

"  Whither  would  you  go  !  "  asked  his  mistress. 

"  To  Courtland,"  he  confessed,  somewhat  reluctantly, 
looking  down  at  the  peaked  toe  of  his  tanned  leather 
riding-boot. 

"  And  what  takes  you  to  Courtland  ?  "  said  Joan  ; 
"  you  are  in  danger  there.  Besides,  would  you  leave  my 
service  and  engage  with  some  other  ?  " 

"  Nav,  my  lady, "  he  burst  out,  "  that  will  not  I,  so 
long  as  life  lasts  !  But  —  but  the  truth  is  "  —  he 
hesitated  as  he  spoke  —  "I  cannot  get  out  of  my  mind 
the  Princess  who  kissed  me  in  the  dark.  The  like 
never  happened  before  to  any  man.  I  cannot  forget 
her,  do  what  I  will.  No,  nor  rest  till  I  have  looked 
upon   her   face." 

"  Wait,"  said  Joan.  "  Only  wait  till  the  spring  and 
it  is  my  hap  to  ride  to  Courtland  for  my  marriage  day. 
Then  1  promise  you  you  shall  see  somewhat  of  her  —  the 
Lord  send  it  be  not  more  than  enough  !  " 

So  through  many  bitter  days  the  Sparhawk  aboac 
at  the  castle  of  Kernsberg,  ill  content. 


Si 


CHAPTER   XII 

JOAN    FORSWEARS    THE    SWORD 

IT  was  not  in  accordance  with  etiquette  that  two  such 
nobly  born  betrothed  persons,  to  be  allied  for  rea^ 
sons  of  high  State  policy,  should  visit  each  other  openlj 
before  the  day  of  marriage ;  but  many  letters  and  pres- 
ents had  come  to  Kernsberg,  all  bearing  witness  to  th( 
lover-like  eagerness  of  the  Prince  of  Courtland  and  of 
his  desire  to  possess  so  fair  a  bride,  especially  one  who 
was  to  bring  him  so  coveted  a  possession  as  the  hill 
provinces  of  Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein. 

Amongst  other  things  he  had  forwarded  portraits  of 
himself,  drawn  with  such  skill  as  the  artists  of  the  Baltic 
possessed,  of  a  man  in  armour,  with  a  countenance  of 
such  wooden  severity  that  it  might  stand  (as  the  Duchess 
openly  declared)  just  as  well  for  Werner,  her  chief 
captain,  or  any  other  man  of  war  in  full  panoply. 

"  But,"  said  Joan  within  herself,  "  what  care  I  for 
armour  black  or  armour  white  ?  Mine  eyes  have  seen 
and  my  heart  does  not  forget." 

Then  she  smiled  and  for  a  while  forgot  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  Princess  Margaret,  which  troubled  her  much 
at  other  times. 

The  winter  was  unusually  long  and  fierce  in  the 
mountains  of  Kernsberg,  and  even  along  the  Baltic 
shores  the  ice  packed  thicker  and  the  snoyv  lay  longer  by 
H  full  month  than  usual. 


Joan  Forswears  the  Sword 

h  was  the  end  of  May,  and  the  full  bursting  glory  of  a 
northern  spring,  when  at  last  the  bridal  cavalcade  wound 
dj^wn  from  the  towers  of  the  Castle  of  Kernsberg. 
Four  hundred  riders,  every  man  arrayed  like  a  prince  in 
the  colours  of  Hohenstein  —  four  fair  maids  to  be  brides- 
maids to  their  Duchess,  and  as  many  matrons  of  rank 
and  years  to  bring  their  mistress  with  dignity  and  dis- 
cretion to  her  new  home.  But  the  people  and  the 
rough  soldiers  openly  mourned  for  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand.  "  The  Princess  of  Courtland  will  not  be  the 
same  thing  !  "  they  said. 

And  they  were  right,  for  since  the  last  time  she  rode 
out  Joan  had  thought  many  things.  Could  it  be  that  she 
was  indeed  that  reckless  maid  who  once  had  vowed  that 
she  would  go  and  look  once  at  the  man  her  father  had 
bidden  her  marry,  and  then,  if  she  did  not  like  him,  would 
oarry  him  off  and  clap  him  in  a  dungeon  till  he  had  paid  a 
swinging  ransom  ^  But  the  knight  of  the  white  plume, 
and  the  interview  she  had  had  with  a  certain  Prince 
in  the  summer  palace  of  Courtland,  had  changed  all 
that. 

Now  she  would  be  sober,  grave  —  a  fit  mate  for  such 
a  man.  Almost  she  blushed  to  recall  her  madcap  feats 
of  only  a  year  ago. 

As  they  approached  the  city,  and  each  night  brought 
them  closer  to  the  great  day,  Joan  rode  more  by  herself, 
or  talked  with  the  young  Dane,  Maurice  von  Lynar,  of 
the  Princess  Margaret,  without,  however,  telling  him 
aught  of  the  rose  garden  or  the  expositions  of  foreign 
customs  which  had  preceded  the  duel  with  the  Wasp. 

The  heart  of  the  Duchess  beat  yet  faster  when  at 
last  the  great  day  of  their  entry  arrived.  As  they  rode 
toward  the  gate  of  Courtland  they  were  aware  of  a 
splendid   cavalcade    which    came    out    to   receive    them 

S3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

in  the  name  of  the  Prince,  and  to  conduct  them  with 
honour  to  the  palace  prepared  for  them. 

In  the  centre  of  a  brilliant  company  rode  the  Princess 
Margaret,  in  a  well-fitting  robe  of  pale  blue  broidered 
with  crimson,  while  behind  and  about  her  was  such  a 
galaxy  of  the  fashion  and  beauty  of  a  court,  that,  had  not 
Joan  remembered  and  thought  on  the  summer  parlour 
and  the  man  who  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  city,  she  had 
almost  bidden  her  four  hundred  riders  wheel  to  the  right- 
about, and  gallop  straight  back  to  Kernsberg  and  the 
heights  of  Hohenstein. 

At  sight  of  the  Duchess's  party  the  Princess  alighted 
from  off  her  steed  with  the  help  of  a  cavalier.  At  the 
same  moment  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  leaped  down  of 
her  own  accord  and  came  forward  to  meet  her  new 
sister. 

The  two  women  kissed,  and  then  held  each  other  at 
arm's  length  for  the  luxury  of  a  long  look. 

The  face  of  the  Princess  showed  a  trace  of  emotion. 
She  appeared  to  be  struggling  with  some  recollection  she 
was  unable  to  locate  with  precision. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy  with  my  brother," 
she  faltered ;  then  after  a  moment  she  added,  "  Have 
you  not  perchance  a  brother  of  your  own  ?  " 

But  before  Joan  could  reply,  a  representative  of  the 
Prince  had  come  forward  to  conduct  the  bride-elect  to 
her  rooms,  and  the  Princess  gave  place  to  him. 

But  all  the  same  she  kept  her  eyes  keenly  about  her, 
and  presently  they  rested  with  a  sudden  brightness  upon 
the  young  Dane,  Maurice  von  Lynar,  at  the  head  of  his 
troop  of  horse.  He  was  near  enough  for  her  to  see  his 
face,  and  it  was  with  a  curious  sense  of  strangeness  that 
she  saw  his  eyes  fixed  upon  herself, 

"  He  is  different — he  is  changed,"  she  said  to  herself; 

S4 


Joan  Forswears  the  Sword 

"  but  how  -^  wait  till  we  get  to  the  palace,  and   I  shall 
soon  find  out." 

And  immediately  she  caused  it  to  be  Intimated  that  all 
the  captains  of  troops  and  the  superior  officers  of  the 
escort  of  the  Duchess  Joan  were  to  be  entertained  at  the 
palace  of  the  Princess  Margaret. 

So  that  at  the  moment  when  Joan  was  taking  her  first 
survey  of  her  chambers,  which  occupied  one  entire  wing 
of  the  great  palace  of  the  Princess  of  Courtland, 
Margaret  the  impetuous  had  already  commanded  the 
presence  of  the  Count  von  Loen,  one  of  the  commanders 
of  the  bridal  escort. 

The  young  officer  entrusted  with  the  message  returned 
almost  immediately,  to  find  his  mistress  impatiently 
pacing  up  and  down. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  halting  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
reception-room  and  looking  at  him. 

"  Your  Highness,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  Count  von 
Loen  among  the  officers  of  Kernsberg  !  " 
Margaret  of  Courtland  stamped  her  foot. 
"  I   expected    as    much,"    she    said.     "  He  shall  pay 
for  this.     Why,  man,  I  saw  him  with  my  own  eyes  an 
hour  ago  —  a  young  man,  slender,  sits  erect  in  his  saddle, 
of  a  dark  allure,  and  with  eyes  like  those  of  an  eagle." 
A  flush  came  over  the  youth's  face. 
"  Does  he  look  like  a  brother  of  the  Countess  Joan  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  That  is  the  man  —  Count  von  Loen  or  no.     That 
is  the  man,  I  tell  you.     Bring  him  immediately  to  me." 
The  young  officer  smiled. 

"  Methinks  he  will  come  readily  enough.  He  started 
forward  as  if  to  follow  me  when  first  I  told  my  message. 
But  when  I  mentioned  the  name  of  the  Count  von  Loen 
he  stood  aside  in  manifest  disappointment." 

S5 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

'•'■  At  all  events,  bring  him  instantly  I "  commanded 
the  Princess. 

The  officer  bowed  low  and  retired. 

The  Princess  Margaret  smiled  to  herself. 

"  It  is  some  more  of  their  precious  State  secrets,"  she 
said.  "Well  —  I  love  secrets;  but  only  my  own,  or 
those  that  are  told  to  me.  And  I  will  make  my  gentle- 
man pay  for  playing  off  his  Counts  von  Loen  on  me !  " 

Presently  she  heard  heavy  footsteps  approaching  the 
door. 

"  Come  in  —  come  in  straightway,"  she  said  in  a 
loud,  clear  voice  ;  "  I  have  a  word  to  speak  with  you. 
Sir  Count  —  who  yet  deny  that  you  are  a  count.  And, 
prithee,  how  many  silly  girls  have  you  taught  the  foreign 
fashions  of  linked  arms,  and  all  that  most  pleasant  cere- 
mony of  leave-taking  in  Kernsberg  and  Plassenburg  ?  " 

Then  the  Sparhawk  had  his  long-desired  view  in  full 
daylight  of  the  woman  whose  lips,  touched  once  under 
cloud  of  night,  had  dominated  his  fancy  and  enslaved 
his  will  during  all  the  weary  months  of  winter. 

Also  he  had  before  him,  though  he  knew  it  not,  a 
somewhat  difficult  and  complicated  explanation. 


86 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    SPARHAWK   IN    THE    TOILS 

THE  Princess  Margaret  was  standing  by  the  window 
as  the  young  man  entered.  Her  golden  curls 
flashed  in  the  late  sunshine,  which  made  a  kind  of  haze 
of  light  about  her  head  as  she  turned  the  resentful 
brilliance  of  her  eyes  upon  Maurice  von  Lynar. 

"  Is  it  a  safe  thing,  think  you,  Sir  Knight,  to  jest 
with  a  princess  in  her  own  land  and  then  come  back  to 
flout  her  for  it  ?  " 

Maurice  understood  her  to  refer  to  the  kiss  given  and 
returned  in  the  darkness  of  the  night.  He  knew  not  of 
how  many  other  indiscretions  he  was  now  to  bear  the 
brunt,  or  he  had  turned  on  the  spot  and  fled  once  more 
across  the  river. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  if  I  off'ended  you,  it  was  not 
done  intentionally,  but  by  mistake." 

"  By  mistake,  sir !  Have  a  care.  I  may  have  been 
indiscreet,  but  I  am  not  imbecile." 

"  The  darkness  of  the  night  —  "  faltered  Von  Lynar, 
"let  that  be  my  excuse." 

"  Pshaw,"  flashed  the  Princess,  suddenly  firing  up  ; 
"  do  you  not  see,  man,  that  you  cannot  lie  yourself  out 
of  this  ?  And,  indeed,  what  need  ?  If  I  were  a 
secretary  of  embassy,  and  a  princess  distinguished  me 
with  her  slightest  favour,  methinks  when  next  I  came 
again  I  would  not  meanly  deny  her  acquaintance  !  " 

«7 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Von  Lynar  was  distressed,  and  fortunately  for  him- 
self  his  distress  showed  in  his  face. 

"  Princess,"  he  said,  standing  humbly  before  her,  "  1 
did  wrong.  But  considei;  the  sudden  temptation,  the 
darkness  of  the  night — " 

"  The  darkness  of  the  night,"  she  said,  stamping  her 
foot,  and  in  an  instinctively  mocking  tone ;  "  you  are 
indeed  well  inspired.  You  remind  me  of  what  I  ven- 
tured that  you  should  be  free.  The  darkness  of  the 
night,  indeed  !  I  suppose  that  is  all  that  sticks  in  your 
memory,  because  you  gained  something  tangible  by  it. 
You  have  forgotten  the  walk  through  the  corridors  of 
the  Palace,  all  you  taught  me  in  the  rose  garden,  and  — 
and  how  apt  a  pupil  you  said  I  was.  Pray,  good  Master 
Forgetfulness,  who  hath  forgotten  all  that,  forgotten  even 
his  own  name,  tell  me  what  you  did  in  Courtland  eight 
months  ago  ?  " 

"  I  came  —  I  came,"  faltered  the  Sparhawk,  fearful 
of  yet  further  committing  himself,  "  I  came  to  find  and 
save  my  dear  mistress." 

"  Your  —  dear  —  mistress  ?  "  The  Princess  spoke 
slowly,  and  the  blue  eyes  hardened  till  they  overtopped 
and  beat  down  the  bold,  black  ones  of  Maurice  von 
Lynar;  "and  you  dare  to  tell  me  this — me,  to  whom 
you  swore  that  you  had  never  loved  woman  in  the  world 
before,  never  spoken  to  them  word  of  wooing  or  compli- 
ment I  Out  of  my  sight,  fellow !  The  Prince,  my 
brother,   will    deal  with   you." 

Then  all  suddenly  her  pride  utterly  gave  way.  The 
disappointment  was  too  keen.  She  sank  down  on  a 
silk-covered  ottoman  by  the  window  side,  sobbing. 

"  Oh,  that  I  could  kill  you  now,  with  my  hands  — 
so,"  she  said  in  little  furious  jerks,  gripping  at  the 
pillow  j   *' I  hate  you,  thus  to  put  a  shame  upon   me  ~> 


The  Sparhawk  in  the  Toils 

me,  Margaret  of  Courtland.  Could  it  have  been  for 
such  a  thing  as  you  that  I  sent  away  the  Prince  of 
Muscovy — yes,  and  many  others  —  because  I  could 
not   forget   you?      And  now  — !" 

Now  Maurice  von  Lynar  was  not  quick  in  discern- 
ment where  woman  was  concerned,  but  on  this  occasion 
he  recognised  that  he  was  blindly  playing  the  hand  of 
another,  a  hand,  moreover,  of  which  he  could  not  hope 
to  see  the  cards.  He  did  the  only  thing  which  could 
have  saved  him  with  the  Princess.  He  came  near  and 
sank  on  one  knee  before  her. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  humbly  and  in  a  moved  voice, 
"  I  beseech  you  not  to  be  angry  —  not  to  condemn  me 
unheard.  In  the  sense  of  being  in  love,  I  never  loved 
any  but  yourself.  I  would  rather  die  than  put  the  least 
slight  upon  one  so  surpassingly  fair,  whose  memory  has 
never  departed  from  me,  sleeping  or  waking,  whose 
image,  dimly  seen,  has  never  for  a  moment  been  erased 
from  my  heart's  tablets." 

The  Princess  paused  and  lifted  her  eyes  till  they  dwelt 
searchingly  upon  him.  His  obvious  sincerity  touched 
her  willing  heart. 

"  But  you  said  just  now  that  you  came  to  Courtland 
to  see  '  your  dear  mistress  *  ?  " 

The  young  man  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

''  You  must  bear  with  me,"  he  said,  "  if  perchance 
for  a  little  my  words  are  wild.  I  had,  Indeed,  no  right 
to  speak  of  you  as  my  dear  mistress." 

"  Oh,  it  was  of  me  that  you  spoke,"  said  the  Princess, 
beginnin;'-  to  smile  a  little;   "I  begin  to  understand." 

DO  '  O 

"  Of  what  other  could  I  speak  ?  "  said  the  shameless 
Von  Lynar,  who  now  began  to  feel  his  way  a  little 
clearer.  "  I  have  indeed  been  very  ill,  and  when  I  am 
in  straits  my  head   is  still  unsettled.     Oftentimes  I  for- 

89 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

get  my  very  name,  so  sharp  a  pang  strikes  through  my 
forehead  that  I  dote  and  stare  and  forget  all  else.  It 
springs  from  a  secret  wound  that  at  the  time  I  knew 
nothing  of." 

"Yes  —  yes,  I  remember.  In  the  duel  with  the 
Wasp  in  the  yew-tree  walk  it  happened.  Tell  me,  is 
it  dangerous  ?      Did  it  well-nigh  cost  you  your  life?  " 

The  youth  modestly  hung  down  his  head. 

This  sudden  spate  of  falsehood  had  come  upon  him, 
as  it  were,  from  the  outside. 

"  If  the  truth  will  not  help  me,"  he  muttered,  "  why, 
I  can  lie  with  any  man.  Else  wherefore  was  I  born  a 
Dane  ?  But,  by  my  faith,  my  mistress  must  have  done 
some  rare  tall  lying  on  her  own  account,  and  now  I  am 
reaping  that  which  she  hath  sown." 

As  he  kneeled  thus  the  Princess  bent  over  him  with 
a  quizzical  expression  on  her  face  : 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  speak  the  truth  now  ?  Your 
wound  is  not  again  causing  you  to  dote  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sparhawk ;  "  indeed,  'tis  almost 
healed." 

"  Where  was  the  wound  .? "  queried  the  Princess 
anxiously. 

''There  were  two,"  answered  Von  Lynar  diplomati- 
cally ;  "  one  in  my  shoulder  at  the  base  of  my  neck,  and 
the  other,  more  dangerous  because  internal,  on  the  head 
itself." 

"  Let  me  see." 

She  came  and  stood  above  him  as  he  put  his  hand  to 
the  collar  of  his  doublet,  and,  unfastening  a  tie,  he 
slipped  it  down  a  little  and  showed  her  at  the  spring  of 
his  neck  Werner  von  Orseln's  thrust. 

"  And  the  other,"    she   said,  covering   It   up   with   a 

little  shudder,  "that  on  the  head,  where  is  it  ?  " 

90 


The  Sparhawk  in  the  Toils 

The  youth  blushed,  but  answered  valiantly  enough. 

"  It  never  was  an  open  wound,  and  so  is  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  find.      Here,  where  my  hand  is,  above  my  brow." 

"  Hold  up  your  head,"  said  the  Princess.  "  On  which 
side  was  it  ?  On  the  right  ?  Strange,  I  cannot  find  it. 
You  are  too  far  beneath  me.  The  light  falls  not  aright. 
Ah,  that  is  better  !  " 

She  kneeled  down  in  front  of  him  and  examined  each 
side  of  his  head  with  interest,  making,  as  she  did  so, 
many  little  exclamations  of  pity  and  remorse. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  nearer  the  brow,"  she  said  at 
last ;  "  hold  up  your  head  —  look  at  me." 

Von  Lynar  looked  at  the  Princess.  Their  position 
was  one  as  charming  as  it  was  dangerous.  They  were 
kneeling  opposite  to  one  another,  their  faces,  drawn 
together  by  the  interest  of  the  surgical  examination, 
had  approached  very  close.  The  dark  eyes  squarely 
looked  into  the  blue.  With  stuff  inflammable,  fire  and 
tow  in  such  conjunction,  who  knows  what  conflagration 
might  have  ensued  had  Von  Lynar's  eyes  continued  thus 
to  dwell  on  those  of  the  Princess  ? 

But  the  young  man's  gaze  passed  over  her  shoulder. 
Behind  Margaret  of  Courtland  he  saw  a  man  standing  at 
the  door  with  his  hand  still  on  the  latch,  A  dark  frown 
overspread  his  face.  The  Princess,  instantly  conscious 
that  the  interest  had  gone  out  of  the  situation,  followed 
the  direction  of  Von  Lynar's  eyes.  She  rose  to  her 
feet  as  the  young  Dane  also  had  done  a  moment  before. 

Maurice  recognized  the  man  who  stood  by  the  door 
as  the  same  whom  he  had  seen  on  the  ground  in  the 
yew-tree  walk  when  he  and  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 
had  faced  the  howling  mob  of  the  city.  For  the  second 
time  Prince  Wasp  had  interfered  with  the  amusements 
of  the  Princess  Margaret. 

9* 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  lady  looked  haughtily  at  the  intruder. 

"To  what,"  she  said,  "  am  I  so  fortunate  as  to  owe 
the  unexpected  honour  of  this  visit  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  pay  my  respects  to  your  Highness,"  said 
Prince  Wasp,  bowing  low.  "  I  did  not  know  that  the 
Princess  was  amusing  herself.  It  is  my  ill-fortune, 
not   my   fault,  that   I  interrupted   at  a  point  so  full  of 


interest." 


It  was  the  truth.  The  point  was  decidedly  interest- 
ing, and  therein  lay  the  sting  of  the  situation,  as  prob- 
ably the  Wasp  knew. 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  leave  me  now,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess, falling  back  on  a  certain  haughty  dignity  which 
she  kept  behind  her  headlong  impulsiveness. 

"  I  obey,  madam,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  first  I  have  a 
message  from  the  Prince  your  brother.  He  asks  you  to 
be  good  enough  to  accompany  his  bride  to  the  Minster 
to-morrow.  He  has  been  ill  all  day  with  his  old 
trouble,  and  cannot  wait  in  person  upon  his  betrothed. 
He  must  abide  in  solitude  for  this  day  at  least.  Your 
Highness  is  apparently  more  fortunate  !  " 

The  purpose  of  the  insult  was  plain ;  but  the  Princess 
Margaret  restrained  herself,  not,  however,  hating  the 
insulter  less. 

"  I  pray  you.  Prince  Ivan,"  she  said,  "  return  to  my 
brother  and  tell  him  that  his  commands  are  ever  an 
honour,  and  shall  be  obeyed  to  the  letter." 

She  bowed  in  dignified  dismissal.  Prince  Wasp 
swept  his  plumed  hat  along  the  floor  with  the  depth  of 
his  retiring  salutation,  and  in  the  same  moment  he 
Hashed  out  his  sting. 

"  I  leave  your  Highness  with  less  regret  as  I  perceive 
that  solitude  has  its  compensations  !"  he  said. 

The  pair  were  left  alone,  but  all  things  seemed  altered 


52 


The  Sparhawk  in  the  Toils 

now.  Margaret  of  Courtland  was  silent  and  distrait. 
Von  Lynar  had  a  frown  upon  his  brow,  and  his  eyes 
were  very  daric  and  angry. 

"Next  time  I  must  kill  the  fellow!  "  he  muttered. 
He  took  the  hand  of  the  Princess  and  respectfully 
kissed  it. 

"  I  am  your  servant,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  do  your  bid- 
ding in  all  things,  in  life  or-  in  death.  If  I  have  for- 
gotten anything,  in  aught  been  remiss,  believe  me  that 
it  was  fate  and  not  I.  I  will  never  presume,  never 
count  on  your  friendship  past  your  desire,  never  recall 
your  ancient  goodness.  I  am  but  a  poor  soldier,  but  at 
least  I  can  faithfully  keep  my  word." 

The  Princess  withdrew  her  hand  as  if  she  had  been 
«5omewhat   fatigued. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  she  said  a  little  bitterly,  "  I  shall 
not  forget.  I  have  not  been  wounded  in  the  head ! 
Only  in  the  heart T^  she  added,  as  she  turned   away. 


n 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AT    THE    HIGH    ALTAR 

WHEN  Maurice  von  Lynar  reached  the  open  air 
he  stood  for  full  five  minutes,  light-headed  in 
the  rush  of  the  city  traffic.  The  loud  iteration  of  re- 
joicing sounded  heartless  and  even  impertinent  in  his  ear. 
The  world  had  changed  for  the  young  Dane  since  the 
Count  von  Loen  had  been  summoned  by  the  Princess 
Margaret. 

He  cast  his  mind  back  over  the  interview,  but  failed 
to  disentangle  anything  definite.  It  was  a  maze  of  im- 
pressions out  of  which  grew  the  certainty  that  safely  to 
play  his  difficult  part  he  must  obtain  the  whole  con- 
fidence of  the  Duchess  Joan. 

He  looked  about  for  the  Prince  of  Muscovy,  but 
failed  to  see  him.  Though  not  anxious  about  the 
result,  he  was  rather  glad,  for  he  did  not  want  another 
quarrel  on  his  hands  till  after  the  wedding.  He  would 
see  the  Princess  Margaret  there.  If  he  played  his  cards 
well  with  the  bride  he  might  even  be  sent  to  escort  her. 

So  he  made  his  way  to  the  magnificent  suite  of  apart- 
ments where  the  Duchess  was  lodged.  The  Prince  had 
ordered  everything  with  great  consideration.  His  own 
horsemen  patrolled  the  front  of  the  palace,  and  the 
Courtland  guards  were  for  the  time  being  wholly  with- 
drawn. 

It  seemed  strange  —  Joan  of  the  Sword   Hand,  who 

94 


At  the  High  Altar 

not  so  long  ago  had  led  many  a  dashing  foray  and  been 
the  foremost  in  many  a  brisk  encounter,  a  bride  !  It 
could  not  be  that  once  he  had  imagined  her  the  fairest 
woman  under  the  sun,  and  himself,  for  her  sake,  the 
most  miserable  of  men.  Thus  do  lovers  deceive  them- 
selves when  the  new  has  come  to  obliterate  the  old. 
Some  can  even  persuade  themselves  that  the  old  nevei 
had  any  existence. 

The  young  Dane  found  the  Duchess  walking  up  and 
down  on  the  noble  promenade  which  faced  the  river  to 
the  west.  For  the  water  curved  in  a  spacious  elbow 
about  the  city  of  Courtland,  and  the  Palace  was  placed 
in  the  angle. 

Maurice  von  Lynar  stood  awhile  respectfully  waiting 
for  the   Duchess    to  recognise  him.     Werner,  John   of 
Thorn,  or  any  of  her  Kernsberg  captains  would   have 
gone    directly    up    to    her.      But    this    youth    had  been- 
trained  in  another  school. 

Joan  of  Hohenstein  stood  a  while  without  moving, 
looking  out  upon  the  river.  She  thought  with  a  kind 
of  troubled  shyness  of  the  morrow,  oft  dreamed  of,  long 
expected.  She  saw  the  man  whom  she  was  not  known 
ever  to  have  seen  — the  noble  young  man  of  the  tourna- 
ment, the  gracious  Prince  of  the  summer  parlour,  cour- 
teous and  dignified  alike  to  the  poor  secretary  of  embassy 
and  to  his  sister  the  Princess  Margaret  of  Courtland, 
Surely  there  never  was  any  one  like  him,  proudly  thought 
this  girl,  as  she  looked  across  the  river  at  the  rich  plain 
studded  with  far-smiling  farms  and  fields  just  waking  to 
life  after  their  long  winter  sleep. 

"Ah,  Von  Lynar,  my  brave  Dane,  what  good  wind 
brings  you  here  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  declare  I  was  long- 
ing for  some  one  to  talk  to."  A  consciousness  of  need 
which  had  only  just  come  upon  her. 

95 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 


cc 


I  have  seen  the  Princess  Margaret,"  said  the  youth 
slowly, "  and  I  think  that  she  must  mistake  me  for  some 
other  person.  She  spoke  things  most  strange  to  me. 
But  fearing  I  might  meddle  with  affairs  wherewith  I  had 
no  concern,  I  forbore  to  correct  her." 

The  eyes  of  the  Duchess  danced.  A  load  seemed 
suddenly  lifted   off  her  mind. 

"Was  she  very  angry?  "  she  queried. 

"  Very  !  "  returned  Von  Lynar,  smiling  in  recogni- 
tion of  her  smile. 

"  What  said  the  Princess  ?  " 

"  First  she  would  have  it  that  my  name  and  style  was 
that  of  the  Count  von  Loen.  Then  she  reproached  me 
fiercely  because  I  denied  It.  After  that  she  spoke  of 
certain  foreign  customs  she  had  been  taught,  recalled 
walks  through  corridors  and  rose  gardens  with  me,  till 
my   head  swam  and  I  knew   not  what   to  answer." 

Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  laughed  a  merry  peal. 

"  The  Count  von  Loen,  did  she  say  ?  "  she  meditated. 
"  Well,  so  you  are  the  Count  von  Loen.  I  create  you 
the  Count  von  Loen.  I  give  you  the  title.  It  Is  mine 
to  give.  By  to-morrow  I  shall  have  done  with  all  these 
thinp;s.  And  since  as  Count  von  Loen  I  drank  the 
wine,  it  is  fair  that  you,  who  have  to  pay  the  reckoning, 
should  be  the  Count  von  Loen  also." 

"  My  father  was  noble,  and  I  am  his  only  son  —  that 
is,  alive,"  said  Maurice,  a  little  drily.  To  his  mind  the 
Count  von  Lynar,  of  the  order  of  the  Dannebrog,  had 
no  need  of  any  other  distinction. 

"  But  I  give  you  also  therewith  the  estates  which  per- 
tain to  the  title.  They  are  situated  on  the  borders  ot 
Relchenau.  I  am  so  happy  to-night  that  I  would  like  to 
make  all  the  world  happy.  I  am  sorry  for  all  the  folk  I 
have  Injured." 


At  the  High  Altar 

*'  Love  changes  aD  things,"  said  the  Dane,  sen- 
tentiously. 

The  Duchess  looked  at  him  quicicly. 

"  You  are  in  love  —  with  the  Princess  Margaret  ?  *' 
she  said. 

The  youth  blushed  a  deep  crimson  which  flooded  his 
neck  and  dyed   his  dusky   skin. 

"  Poor  Maurice  !  "  she  said,  touching  his  bowed  head 
with  her  hand,  "  your  troubles  will  not  be  to  seek." 

"My  lady,"  said  the  youth,  "I  fear  not  trouble.  I 
have  promised  to  serve  the  Princess  in  all  things.  She 
has  been  kind  to  me.     She  has  forgiven  me  all." 

"So  —  you  are  to  change  your  allegiance,"  said  the 
Duchess.  "  It  is  as  well  that  I  have  made  you  Count 
von  Loen,  and  so  in  a  manner  bound  you  to  me,  or  )'ou 
would  be  going  off  into  another's  service  with  all  my 
secrets  in  your  keeping.  Not  that  it  will  matter  very 
much  —  after  to-morrow  !  "  she  added,  with  a  glance  at 
the  wing  of  the  palace  which  held  the  summer  parlour. 
"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  appease  her?  That  is  no 
mean  feat.  She  is  an  imperious  lady  and  quick  of  un- 
derstanding." 

Then  Maurice  von  Lynar  told  his  mistress  of  his 
most  allowable  falsehoods,  and  begged  her  not  to  un- 
deceive the  Princess,  for  that  he  would  rather  bear  all 
that  she  might  put  upon  him  than  that  she  should  know 
he  had  lied  to  her. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  said  the  Duchess,  laughing,  "  it 
was  I  who  tangled  the  skein.  So  far  you  have  unrav- 
elled it  very  well.  The  least  I  can  do  is  to  leave  you 
to  unwind  it  to  the  end,  my  brave  Count  von  Loen." 

So  they  parted,  the  Duchess  to  her  apartment,  and 
the  young  man  to  pace  up  and  down  the  stone-flagged 
promenade  all  night,  thinking  of  the  distracting  whimsies 
7  97 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

of  the  Princess,  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  love,  and, 
most  of  all,  of  how  daintily  exquisite  and  altogether  de- 
sirable was  her  beauty  of  face,  of  figure,  of  temper,  of 
everything  ! 

For  the  Sparhawk  was  not  a  lover  to  make  reser- 
vations. 

The  morning  of  the  great  day  dawned  cool  and  grey. 
A  sunshade  of  misty  cloud  overspread  the  city  and  tem- 
pered the  heat.  It  had  come  up  on  the  morning  wind 
from  the  Baltic,  and  by  eight  the  ships  at  the  quays,  and 
the  tall,  beflagged  festal  masts  in  the  streets  through 
which  the  procession  was  to  pass,  ran  clear  up  into  it 
and  were  lost,  so  that  the  standards  and  pennons  on 
their  tops  could  not  be  seen  any  more  than  if  they  had 
been  amongst  the  stars. 

The  streets  were  completely  lined  with  the  folk  of  the 
city  of  Courtland  as  the  Princess  Margaret,  with  the 
Sparhawk  and  his  company  of  lances  clattering  behind 
her,  rode  to  the  entrance  of  the  great  palace  where  abode 
the  bride-elect. 

"  Who  is  that  youth  ?  "  asked  Margaret  of  Court- 
land  of  Joan,  as  they  came  out  together ;  she  looked  at 
the  Dane — "he  at  the  head  of  your  first  troops?  He 
looks  like  your  brother." 

"  He  has  often  been  taken  for  such  1  "  said  the  bride. 
'^  He  is  called  the  Count  von  Loen  !  " 

The  Princess  did  not  reply,  and  as  the  two  fair  women 
came  out  arm  in  arm,  a  sudden  glint  of  sunlight  broke 
through  the  leaden  clouds  and  fell  upon  them,  glorifying 
the  white  dress  of  the  one,  and  the  blue  and  gold  apparel 
of  the  other. 

The  bells  of  the  Alinster  clanged  out  a  changeful 
thunder  of  brazen  acclaim  as  the  bride  set  out  for  the 


At  the  High  Altar 

first  time  (so  they  told  each  other  on  the  streets)  to  see 
her  promised  husband. 

"  'T  was  well  we  did  not  so  manage  our  affairs, 
Hans,"  said  a  fishmonger's  wife,  touching  her  husband's 
arm  archly. 

"Nay,  wife,"  returned  the  seller  of  fish;  "whatever 
thou  art,  at  least  I  cannot  deny  that  I  took  thee  with  my 
eyes  open," 

They  reached  the  Rathhaus  and  the  clamour  grew 
louder  than  ever.  Presently  they  were  at  the  cathedral 
and  were  making  them  ready  to  dismount.  The  bells 
in  the  towers  above  burst  forth  into  yet  more  frantic 
jubilation.     The  cannons  roared  from  the  ramparts. 

The  Princess  Margaret  had  delayed  a  little,  either 
taking  longer  to  her  attiring,  or,  perhaps,  gossiping 
with  the  bride.  So,  that  when  the  shouts  in  the  wide 
Minster  Place  announced  their  arrival,  all  was  in  waiting 
within  the  great  crowded  church,  and  the  bridegroom 
had  gone  in  well-nigh  half  an  hour  before  them.  But 
that  was  in  accord  with  the  best  traditions. 

Very  like  a  Princess  and  a  great  lady  looked  Joan  of 
Hohenstein  as  she  went  up  the  aisle,  with  Margaret  of 
Courtland  by  her  side.  She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  ground, 
for  she  meant  to  look  at  no  one  and  behold  nothing  till 
she  should  see  —  that  which  she  longed  to  look  upon. 

Suddenly  she  was  conscious  that  they  had  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  a  vast  silence.  The  candles  upon  the 
great  altar  threw  down  a  golden  lustre.  Joan  saw  the 
irregular  shining  of  them  on  her  white  bridal  dress,  and 
wondered  that  it  should  be  so  bright. 

There  was  a  hush  over  all  the  assembly,  the  silence 
of  a  great  multitude  all  intent  upon  one  thing. 

"  My  brother,  the  Prince  of  Courtland  I  "  said  the 
voice  of  the  Princess  Margaret. 

99 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Slowly  Joan  raised  her  eyes  —  pride  and  happiness  at 
war  with  a  kind  of  glorious  shame  upon  her  face. 

But  that  one  look  altered  all  things. 

She  stood  fixed,  aghast,  turned  to  stone  as  she  gazed. 
She  could  neither  speak  nor  think.  That  which  she  saw 
almost  struck  her  dead  with  horror. 

The  man  whom  his  sister  introduced  as  the  Prince  of 
Courtland  was  not  the  knight  of  the  tournament.  He 
was  not  the  young  prince  of  the  summer  palace.  He 
was  a  man  much  older,  more  meagre  of  body,  grey- 
headed, with  an  odd  sidelong  expression  in  his  eyes. 
His  shoulders  were  bent  and  he  carried  himself  like  a 
man  prematurely  old. 

And  there,  behind  the  altar-railing,  clad  in  the  scarlet 
of  a  prince  of  the  church,  and  wearing  the  mitre  of  a 
bishop,  stood  the  husband  of  her  heart's  deep  thoughts, 
the  man  who  had  never  been  out  of  her  mind  all  these 
weary  months.  He  held  a  service  book  in  his  hand, 
and  stood  ready  to  marry  Joan  of  Hohenstein  to 
another. 

The  man  who  was  called  Prince  of  Courtland  came 
forward  to  take  her  hand ;  but  Joan  stood  with  her 
arms  firmly  at  her  sides.  The  terrible  nature  of  her 
mistake  flashed  upon  her  and  grew  in  horror  with  every 
moment.  Fate  seemed  to  laugh  suddenly  and  mock- 
ingly in  her  face.      Destiny  shut  her  In. 

"  Are  you  the  Prince  of  Courtland  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and 
at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  unwontedly  clear  In  the  great 
church,  even  the  organ  appeared  to  still  itself.  All  lis- 
tened Intently,  though  only  a  few  heard  the  conversation. 
"  I  have  that  honour,"  bowed  the  man  with  the  bent 
shoulders. 

"  Then,  as  God  lives,  I  will  never  marry  you  !  ** 
cried  Joan,  all  her  soul  in  the  disgust  of  her  voice. 

loo 


At  the  High  Altar 

*'  Be  not  disdainful,  my  lady,"  said  the  bridegroom 
•  mildly  ;  "  I  will  be  your  humble  slave.  You  shall 
have  a  palace  and  an  establishment  of  your  own,  an'  it 
like  you.  The  marriage  was  your  father's  desire,  and 
hath  the  sanction  of  the  Emperor.  It  is  as  necessary 
for  your  State  as  for  mine." 

Then,  while  the  people  waited  in  a  kind  of  palpitating 
uncertainty,  the  Princess  Margaret  whispered  to  the  bride, 
who  stood  with  a  face  as  ashen  pale  as  her  white  dress. 

Sometimes  she  looked  at  the  Prince  of  Courtland, 
and  then  immediately  averted  her  eyes.  But  never,  after 
the  first  glance,  did  Joan  permit  them  to  stray  to  the 
face  of  him  who  stood  behind  the  altar  railings  with  his 
service  book  in  his  hand. 

"Well,"  she  said  finally,  "I  will  marry  this  man, 
since  it  is  my  fate.      Let  the  ceremony  proceed  !  " 

"  1  thank  you,  gracious  lady,"  said  the  Prince,  taking 
her  hand  and  leaning  his  bride  to  the  altar.  "You  will 
never  reo;ret  it." 

"  No,  but  you  will ! "  muttered  his  groomsman,  the 
Prince  Ivan  of  Muscovy. 

The  full,  rich  tones  of  the  prince  bishop  rose  and  fell 
through  the  crowded  minster  as  Joan  of  Hohenstein  was 
married  to  his  elder  brother,  and  with  the  closing  words 
of  the  episcopal  benediction  an  awe  fell  upon  the  multi- 
tude. They  felt  that  they  were  in  the  presence  of  great 
unknown  forces,  the  action  and  interaction  of  which 
might  lead  no  man  knew  whither. 

At  the  close  of  the  service,  Joan,  now  Princess  of 
Courtland,  leaned  over  and  whispered  a  word  to  her 
captain,  Maurice  von  Lynar,  an  action  noticed  by  few. 
The  young  man  started  and  gazed  into  her  face  ;  but, 
immediately  commanding  his  emotion,  he  nodded  and 
disappeared  by  a  side  door, 

lOX 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  great  organ  swelled  out.  The  marriage  proces- 
sion was  re-formed.  The  prince  bishop  had  retired  to 
his  sacristy  to  change  his  robes.  The  new  Princess  of 
Courtland  came  down  the  aisle  on  the  arm  of  her 
husband. 

Then  the^  bells  almost  turned  over  in  their  fury  of 
jubilation,  and  every  cannon  in  the  city  bellowed  out. 
The  people  shouted  themselves  hoarse,  and  the  line  of 
Courtland  troops  who  kept  the  people  back  had  great 
difficulty  in  restraining  the  enthusiasm  which  threatened 
to  break  all  bounds  and  involve  the  married  pair  in  a 
whirling  tumult  of  acclaim. 

In  the  centre  of  the  Minster  Place  the  four  hundred 
lances  of  the  Kernsberg  escort  had  formed  up,  a  serried 
mass  of  beautiful  well-groomed  horses,  stalwart  men, 
and  shining  spears,  from  each  of  which  the  pennon  of 
their  mistress  fluttered  in  the  light  wind. 

"  Ha !  there  they  come  at  last !  See  them  on  the 
steps ! "  The  shouts  rang  out,  and  the  people  flung 
their  headgear  wildly  into  the  air.  The  line  of  Court- 
land  foot  saluted,  but  no  cheer  came  from  the  array  of 
Kernsberg  lances. 

"They  are  sorry  to  lose  her  —  and  no  small  wonder. 
Well,  she  is  ours  now !  "  the  people  cried,  congratulating 
one  another  as  they  shook  hands  and  the  wine  gurgled 
out  of  the  pigskins  into  innumerable  thirsty  mouths. 

On  the  steps  of  the  Minster,  after  they  had  descended 
more  than  half-way,  the  new  Princess  of  Courtland 
turned  upon  her  lord.  Her  hand  slipped  from  his  arm, 
which  hung  a  moment  crooked  and  empty  before  it 
dropped  to  his  side.  His  mouth  was  a  little  open  with 
surprise.  Prince  Louis  knew  that  he  was  wedding  a 
wilful  dame,  but  he  had  not  been  prepared  for  this. 

"  Now,  my  lord,"  said   the  Princess  Joan,  loud  and 

102 


At  the  High  Altar 

clear.  "  I  have  married  you.  The  bond  of  heritage- 
brotherhood  is  fulfilled.  I  have  obeyed  my  father  to 
the  letter.  I  have  obeyed  the  P^mperor.  I  have  done 
all.  Now  be  it  known  to  you  and  to  all  men  that  I 
will  neither  live  with  you  nor  yet  in  your  city.  I  am 
your  wife  in  name.  You  shall  never  be  my  husband  in 
aught  else.  I  bid  you  farewell,  Prince  of  Courtland. 
Joan  of  Hohenstein  may  marry  where  she  is  bidden,  but 
she  loves  where  she  will." 

The  horse  upon  which  she  had  come  to  the  Minster 
stood  waiting.  There  was  the  Sparhawk  ready  to  help 
her  into  the  saddle. 

Ere  one  of  the  wedding  guests  could  move  to  prevent 
her,  before  the  Prince  of  Courtland  could  cry  an  order 
or  decide  what  to  do,  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  had 
placed  herself  at  the  head  of  her  four  hundred  lances, 
and  was  riding  through  the  shouting  streets  towards  the 
Plassenburg  gate. 

The  people  cheered  as  she  went  by,  clearing  the  way 
that  she  might  not  be  annoyed.  They  thought  it  part 
of  the  day's  show  and  voted  the  Kernsbergers  a  gallant 
band,  well  set  up  and  right  bravely  arrayed. 

So  they  passed  through  the  gate  in  safety.  The 
noble  portal  was  all  aflutter  with  colour,  the  arms  of 
Hohenstein  and  Courtland  being  quartered  together  on 
a  great  wooden  plaque  over  the  main  entrance. 

As  soon  as  they  were  clear  the  Princess  Joan  turned 
in  her  saddle  and  spake  to  the  four  hundred  behind  her. 

"  We  ride  back  to  Kernsberg,"  she  cried.  "  Joan  of 
the  Sword  Hand  is  wed,  but  not  yet  won.  If  they 
would  keep  her  they  must  first  catch  her.  Are  you 
with  me,  lads  of  the  hills  ?  " 

There  came  a  unanim,ous  shout  of  "  Aye — -to  the 
death  !  "  from  four  hundred  throats, 

103 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"Then  give  me  a  sword  and  put  the  horses  to  their 
speed.  We  ride  for  home.  Let  them  catch  us  who 
can  !  " 

And  this  was  the  true  fashion  of  the  marrying  of 
Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  Duchess  of  Hohenstein,  to 
the  Prince  Louis  of  Courtland,  by  his  brother,  Bishop 
Conrad,  Cardinal  and  Prince  of  the  Holy  Church. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHAT    JOAN    LEFT    BEHIND 

AFTER  the  departure  of  his  bride,  the  Prince  of 
Courtland  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  minster, 
dazed  and  foundered  by  the  shame  which  had  so  suddenly 
befallen  him.  Beneath  him  the  people  seethed  tumultu- 
ously,  their  holiday  ribands  and  maypole  dresses  making 
as  gay  a  swirl  of  colour  as  when  one  looks  at  the  sun 
through  the  facets  of  cut  Venetian  glass.  Prince  Louis's 
weak  and  fretful  face  worked  with  emotion.  His  bird- 
like hands  clawed  uncertainly  at  his  sword-hilt,  wander- 
ing  off  over  the  golden  pouches  that  tasselled  his  baldric 
till  they  rested  on  the  sheath  of  the  poignard  he  wore. 

"  Bid  the  gates  be  shut,  Prince  !  "  The  whisper  came 
over  his  shoulder  from  a  young  man  who  had  been  stand- 
ing all  the  time  twisting  his  moustache.  "  Bid  your 
horsemen  bit  and  bridle.  The  plain  is  fair  before  you. 
It  is  a  long  way  to  Kernsberg.  I  have  a  hundred  Mus- 
covites at  your  service,  all  well  mounted  —  ten  thousand 
behind  them  over  the  frontier  if  these  are  not  enough  ! 
Let  no  wench  in  the  world  put  this  shame  upon  a  reign- 
ing Prince  of  Courtland  upon  his  wedding-day  !  " 

Thus  Ivan  of  Muscovy,  attired  In  silk,  banded  of 
black  and  gold,  counselled  the  disdained  Prince  Louis, 
who  stood  pushing  upward  with  two  fingers  the  point  of 
his  thin  greyish  beard  and  gnawing  Its  Straggling  ends 
between  his  teeth* 

I0| 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  I  say,  '  To  horse  and  ride,  man  ! '  Will  you  dare 
tell  this  folk  of  yours  that  you  are  disdained,  slighted  at 
the  very  church  door  by  your  wedded  wife,  cast  off  and 
trodden  in  the  mire  like  a  bursten  glove  ?  Can  you 
proclaim  yourself  the  scorn  of  Germany?  How  it  wilj 
run,  that  news  !  To  Plassenburg  first,  where  the  Execu- 
tioner's Son  will  smile  triumphantly  to  his  witch  wife, 
and  straightway  send  off  a  messenger  to  tickle  the  well- 
larded  ribs  of  his  friend  the  Margraf  George  with  the 
rare  jest." 

The  Prince  Louis  appeared  to  be  moved  by  Prince 
Wasp's  words.  He  turned  about  to  the  nearest  knight- 
in- waiting. 

"  Let  us  to  horse  —  every  man  of  us  I "  he  said. 
"  Bid  that  the  steeds  be  brought  instantly.". 

The  banded  Wasp  had  further  counsels'  to  give. 

"  Give  out  that  you  go  to  meet  the  Princess  at  a 
rendezvous.  For  a-  pleasantry  between  yourselves,  you 
have  resolved  to  spend  the  honeymoon  at  a  distant  hunt- 
ing-lodge. Quick!  Not  half  a  dozen  of  all  the  company 
caught  the  true  import  of  her  words.  You  will  tame 
her  yet.  She  will  founder  her  horses  in  a  single  day's 
ride,  while  you  have  relays  along  the  road  at  every  castle, 
at  every  farm-house,  and  your  borders  are  fifty  good 
miles  away." 

Beneath,  in  the  square,  the  court  jesters  leaped  and 
laughed,  turning  somersaults  and  making  a  flying  skirt, 
like  that  of  a  morrice  dancer,  out  of  the  long,  flapping 
points  of  their  parti-coloured  blouses.  The  streets  in 
front  of  the  cathedral  were  alive  with  musicians,  mostly 
in  little  bands  of  three,  a  harper  with  his  harp  of  fourteen 
strings,  his  companion  playing  industriously  upon  a  flute 
English,  and  with  these  two  their  'prentice,  or  servitor, 
who  accompanied  them  with   shrill  iterance  of  whistle. 


what  Joan  Left  Behind 

while  his  hands  busied  themselves  with  the  merry  tuck 
of  tabor. 

In  this  incessant  merry-making  the  people  soon  forgot 
their  astonishment  at  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the 
bride.  There  was,  indeed,  no  understanding  these  great 
folk.  But  it  was  a  fine  day  for  a  feast  —  the  pretext  a 
good  one.  And  so  the  lasses  and  lads  joked  as  they 
danced  in  the  lower  vaults  of  the  town-house,  from  which 
the  barrels  had  been  cleared  for  the  occasion. 

"  If  thou  and  I  were  thus  wedded,  Grete,  would  you 
ride  one  way  and  I  the  other?  Nay,  God  wot,  lass! 
I  am  but  a  tanner's  'prentice,  but  I  'd  abide  beside  thee, 
as  close  as  bark  by  hide  that  lies  three  years  in  the  same 
tan-pit  —  aye,  an'  that  I  would,  lass  !  " 

Then  Gretchen  bridled,  "  I  would  not  marry  thee 
nor  yet  lie  near  or  far,  Hans ;  thou  art  but  a  boy,  feckless 
and  skill-less  save  to  pole  about  thy  stinking  skins  — 
faugh  !  " 

"Nay,  try  me,  Grete!  Is  not  this  kiss  as  sweet  as 
any  civet-scented   fop  could  give  ? " 

At  the  command  of  the  Prince  the  trumpets  rang  out 
again  the  "  Boot-and-saddle  !  "  from  the  steps  of  the 
Cathedral.  At  the  sound,  the  grooms,  who  were  here 
and  there  in  the  press,  hasted  to  find  and  caparison  the 
horses  of  their  lords.  Meanwhile,  on  the  wide  steps  the 
Prince  Louis  fretted,  dinting  his  nails  restlessly  into  his 
palms  and  shaking  with  anger  and  disappointment  till  his 
deep  sleeves  shook  like  scarlet  flames  in  a  veering 
wind. 

Suddenly  there  passed  a  wave  over  the  people  who 
crov/ded  the  spacious  Dom  Platz  of  Courtland.  The 
turmoil  stilled  itself  unconsciously.  The  many-headed, 
paiti-coloured  throng  of  women's  tall  coifs,  gay  fluttering 
ibands,  men's  velvet  caps,  gallants'   white  feathers  that 

107 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

shifted  like  the  permutations  of  a  kaleidoscope,  all  at 
once  fixed  itself  into  a  sea  of  white  faces,  from  which 
presently  arose  a  forest  of  arms,  flourishing  kerchiefs  and 
tossing  caps.  To  this  succeeded  a  deep  mouth-roar  of 
burgherish  welcome  such  as  the  reigning  Prince  had 
never  heard  raised  in  his  own   honour. 

"  Conrad  —  Prince  Conrad  1  God  bless  our  Prince- 
Cardinal  ! " 

The  legitimate  ruler  of  Courtland,  standing  where 
Joan  had  left  him,  with  his  slim-waisted  Muscovite 
mentor  behind  him,  half  turned  to  look.  And  there  on 
the  highest  place  stood  his  brother  in  the  scarlet  of  his 
new  dignity  as  it  had  come  from  the  Pope  himself,  his 
red  biretta  held  in  his  hand,  and  his  fair  and  noble  head 
erect  as  he  looked  over  the  folk  to  where  on  the  slope 
above  the  city  gates  he  could  still  see  the  sun  glint  and 
sparkle  on  the  cuirasses  and  lance  heads  of  the  four  hun- 
dred riders  of  Kernsberg. 

But  even  as  the  Prince  of  Courtland  looked  back  at 
his  brother,  the  whisper  of  the  tempter  smote  the  latter's 
ear. 

"  Had  Prince  Conrad  been  in  your  place,  and  you 
behind  the  altar  rails,  think  you  that  the  Duchess  Joan 
would  have  fled   so   cavalierly  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  young  Cardinal  had  descended  till  he 
stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  Prince  from  Ivan  of 
Muscovy. 

"  You  take  horse  to  follow  your  bride  ?  "  he  queried, 
smiling.  "  Is  it  a  fashion  of  Kernsberg  brides  thus  to 
steal  away  ? "  For  he  could  see  the  grooms  bringing 
horses  into  the  square,  and  the  guards  beating  the  people 
back  with  the  butts  of  their  spears  to  make  room  for  the 
mounting  of  the  Prince's  cavalcade. 

"  Hark  —  he  flouts  you  !  "  came  the  whisper  over  the 

loS 


What  Joan  Left  Behind 

bridegroom's  shoulder;  "1  warrant  he  knew  of  this 
before." 

"You  have  done  your  priest's  work,  brother,"  said 
Louis  coldly,  "  e'en  permit  me  to  do  that  of  a  prince  in 
my  own  way." 

The  Cardinal  bowed  low,  but  with  great  self-com- 
mand held  his  peace,  whereat  Louis  of  Courtland  broke 
out  in  a  sudder  overboiling  fury. 

"This  is  your  doing!"  he  cried;  "  I  know  it  well. 
From  her  first  coming  my  bride  had  set  herself  to  scorn 
me.  My  sister  knew  it.  You  knew  it.  You  smile  as 
at  a  jest.  The  Pope's  favour  has  turned  your  head. 
You  would  have  all  —  the  love  of  my  wife,  the  rule  oi 
my  folk,  as  well  as  the  acclaim  of  these  city  swine. 
Listen  —  'The  good  Prince  Conrad  I  God  save  the 
noble  Prince  1 '  It  is  worth  living  for  favour  such  as 
this." 

"  Brother  of  mine,"  said  the  young  man  gently,  "  as, 
you  know  well,  I  never  set  eyes  upon  the  noble  Lady 
Joan  before.  Never  spoke  word  to  her,  held  no  com- 
munication by  word  or  pen." 

"Von  Dessauer — his  secretary!"  whispered  Ivan, 
dropping  the  suggestion  carefully  over  his  shoulder  like 
poison  distilled  into  a  cup. 

"  You  were  constantly  with  the  old  fox  Dessauer,  the 
envoy  of  Plassenburg  —  who  came  from  Kernsberg, 
bringing  with  him  that  slim  secretary.  By  my  faith, 
now,  when  I  think  of  it.  Prince  Ivan  told  me  last  night 
he  was  as  like  this  madcap  girl  as  pea  to  pea  — some 
fly-blown  bastard  brother,  doubtless  !  " 

Conrad  shook  his  head.  His  brother  had  doubtless 
gone  momentarily  distract  with  his  troubles. 

"  Nay,  deny  it  not  !  And  smile  not  either  —  lest  I 
spoil  the  symmetry  of  that  face  for  your  monkish  mum- 

109 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

mery  and  processions.  Aye,  if  I  have  to  underlie  ten 
years'  interdict  for  it  from  your  friend  the  most  Holy 
Pope  of  Rome  !  " 

"  Do  not  forget  there  is  another  church  in  mv  coun- 
try, which  will  lay  no  interdict  upon  you,  Prince  Louis," 
laughed  Ivan  of  Muscovy.  "But  to  horse  —  we  lose 
time!" 

"  Brother,"  said  the  Cardinal,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  arm,  "  on  my  word  as  a  knight  —  as  a  Prince 
of  the  Church  — I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  I  can- 
not even  guess  what  has  led  you  thus  to  accuse  me  1  " 

The  Princess  Margaret  came  at  that  moment  out  of 
the  Cathedral  and  ran  impetuously  to  her  favourite 
brother. 

He  put  out  his  hand.  She  took  It,  and  instead  of 
kissing  his  bishop's  ring,  as  in  strict  etiquette  she  ought 
to  have  done,  she  cried  out,  "  Conrad,  do  you  know 
what  that  glorious  wench  has  done  ?  Dared  her  hus- 
band's authority  at  the  church  door,  leaped  Into  the 
saddle,  whistled  up  her  men,  cried  to  all  these  Courtland 
gallants,  '  Catch  me  who  can  !  '  and  lo  !  at  this  moment 
she  Is  riding  straight  for  Kernsberg,  and  now  our  Louis 
must  catch  her.  A  glorious  wedding !  I  would  I  had 
been  by  her  side.  Brother  Louis,  you  need  "not  frown, 
I  am  nowise  affrighted  at  your  glooms  !  This  Is  a  bride 
worth  fighting  for.  No  puling  cloister-maid  that  dares 
not  raise  her  eyes  higher  than  her  bridegroom's  knee. 
Were  I  a  man,  by  my  faith,  I  would  never  eat  nor 
drink,  neither  pray  nor  sain  me,  till  I  tamed  the  darling 
and  brought  her  to  my  wrist  like  a  falcon  to  a  lure  !  " 

"  So  then,  madam,  you  knew  of  this  ?  "  said  her  elder 
brother,  glowering  upon  her  from  beneath  his  heavy 
brows. 

"  Nay ! "   trilled   the    gay  Princess,  "  I    only  wish  I 

no 


What  Joan  Left  Behind 

had.     Then  I,  too,  would  have  been  riding  with  them 

—  such  a  jest  as  never  was,  it  would  have  been.  Good, 
bye,  my  forsaken  brother !  Joy  be  with  you  on  this; 
vour  bridal  journey.  Take  Prince  Ivan  with  you,  and 
Conrad  and  I  will  keep  the  kingdom  against  your  return 
with  your  prize  gentled  on  your  wrist," 

So,  smiling  and  kissing  her  hand,  the  Princess  Mar- 
garet waved  her  brother  and  Prince  Ivan  ofl.  The 
Prince  of  Courtland  neither  looked  at  her  nor  answered. 
But  the  Muscovite  turned  often  in  his  saddle  as  if  to 
carry  with  him  the  picture  she  made  of  saucy  count- 
enance and  dainty  figure  as  she  stood  looking  up  into 
the  face  of  the  Cardinal  Prince  Conrad. 

"  What  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  meaning  of  all  this 

—  I  do  not  understand  in  the  least  ? "    he  was  saying. 

"  Haste  you  and  unrobe.  Brother  Con,"  she  said ; 
"  this  grandeur  of  yours  daunts  me.  Then,  in  the 
summer   parlour,    I    will    tell   you    all ! " 


?1S 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PRINCE    wasp's    compact 

«  T  CANNOT  go  back  to  Courtland  dishonoured," 
A  said  Prince  Louis  to  Ivan  of  Muscovy,  as  they 
stood  on  the  green  bank  looking  down  on  the  rushing 
river,  broad  and  brown,  which  had  so  lately  been  the 
Fords  of  Alia.  The  river  had  risen  almost  as  it  seemed 
upon  the  very  heels  of  the  four  hundred  horsemen  of 
Kernsberg,  and  the  ironclad  knights  and  men-at-arms 
who  followed  the  Prince  of  Courtland  could  not  face  the 
yeasty  swirl  of  the  flood. 

Prince  Ivan,  left  to  himself,  would  have  dared  it. 

"  What  is  a  little  brown  water  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Let 
the  men  leave  their  armour  on  this  side  and  swim  their 
horses  through.  We  do  it  fifty  times  a  month  in 
Muscovy  in  the  springtime.  And  what  are  your  hill- 
fed  brooks  to  the  full-bosomed  rivers  of  the  Great 
Plain  ? " 

"  It  is  just  because  they  are  hill-fed  that  we  know 
them  and  will  not  risk  our  lives.  The  Alia  has  come 
down  out  of  the  mountains  of  Hohenstein.  For  four- 
and-twenty  hours  nothing  without  wing  may  pass  and 
repass.  Yet  an  hour  earlier  and  our  Duchess  had  been 
trapped  on  the  hither  side  even  as  wc.  But  now  she 
will  sit  and  laugh  up  there  in  Kernsberg.  And  —  I 
cannot  go  back  to  Courtland  without  a  bride !  " 

Prince  Ivan  stood  a  moment  silent.     Then  his  eye? 


Prince  Wasp's  Compact 

glanced  over  his  companion  with  a  certain  severe  and 
amused  curiosity.  From  foot  to  head  they  scanned  him, 
beginning  at  his  shoes  of  red  Cordovan  leather,  follow- 
ing upwards  to  the  great  tassel  he  wore  at  his  poignard ; 
then  came  the  golden  girdle  about  his  waist,  the  flowered 
needlework  at  his  wrists  and  neck,  and  the  scrutiny 
ended  with  the  flat  red  cap  on  his  head,  from  which  a 
white  feather  nodded  over  his  left  eye. 

Then  the  gaze  of  Prince  Ivan  returned  again  slowly 
to  the  pointed  red  shoes  of  Cordovan  leather. 

If  there  was  anything  so  contemptuous  as  that  eye- 
blink  in  the  open  scorn  of  all  the  burghers  of  Courtland, 
Prince  Louis  was  to  be  excused  for  any  hesitation  in 
facing  his  subjects. 

The  matter  of  Prince  Wasp's  meditation  ran  some- 
what thuswise  :  "Thou  man,  fashioned  from  a  scullion's 
nail-paring,  and  cocked  upon  a  horse,  what  can  I  make 
of  thee  ?  Thou,  to  have  a  country,  a  crown,  a  wife  ! 
Gudgeon  eats  stickleback,  jackpike  eats  gudgeon  and 
grows  fat,  till  at  the  last  the  sturgeon  in  his  armour  eats 
him,  I  will  fatten  this  jack.  I  will  feed  him  like  the 
gudgeons  of  Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein,  baited  with  a 
dainty  fly  indeed,  black-tipped,  with  sleeves  gay  as 
cranes'  wings,  and  answering  to  the  name  of  '  my  lady 
Joan.'  But  wait  —  I  must  be  wary,  and  have  a  care 
lest  I  shadow  his  water." 

So  saying  within  his  heart.  Prince  Wasp  became  ex- 
ceedingly thoughtful  and  of  a  demure  countenance. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  this  day's  work  will  not  go 
well  down  in  Courtland,  I  fear  me  ! " 

Prince  Louis  moved  uneasily,  keeping  his  regard 
steadily  upon  the  brown  turmoil  of  the  Alia  swirling 
beneath,  whereas  the  eyes  of  Ivan  never  removed  frorr? 
his  friend's  meagre  face. 

^  in 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

''  Your  true  Courtlander  is  more  than  half  a  Musco- 
vite," mused  Prince  Wasp,  as  if  thinking  aloud;  "he 
wishes  not  to  be  argued  with.  He  wants  a  master,  and 
he  will  not  love  one  who  permits  himself  to  be  choused 
of  a  wife  upon  his  wedding-day  !  " 

Prince  Louis  started  quickly  as  the  Wasp's  sting 
touched  him. 

"  And,  pray.  Prince  Ivan,"  he  said,  "  what  could  I 
have  done  that  I  have  left  undone  ?  Speak  plainly, 
since  you  are  so  prodigal  of  smiles  suppressed,  so  witty 
with  covert  words  and  shoulder-tappings  1  " 

"  My  Louis,"  said  Prince  Wasp,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  his  companion  with  an  affectation  of 
tenderness,  "I  flout  you  not  —  I  mock  you  not.  And 
if  I  speak  harshly,  it  is  only  that  I  love  not  to  see  you 
in  your  turn  flouted,  mocked,  scorned,  mac'e  light  of 
before  your  own  people  !  " 

"■  I  believe  it,  Ivan  ;  pardon  the  heat  of  my  hasty 
temper  !  "  said  the  Prince  of  Courtland.  The  watchful 
Muscovite  pursued  his  advantage,  narrowing  his  eyes 
that  he  might  the  better  note  every  change  on  the  face 
of  the  man  whom  he  held  in  his  toils.  He  went  on, 
with  a  certain  resigned  sadness  in  his  voice  : 

"  Ever  since  I  came  first  to  Courtland  with  the  not 
dishonourable  hope  of  carrying  back  to  my  father  a 
princess  of  your  house,  none  have  been  so  amiable 
together  as  you  and  I.  We  have  been  even  as  David 
and   Jonathan." 

The  Prince  Louis  put  out  a  hand,  which  apparently 
Ivan  did  not  see,  for  he  continued  without  taking  it. 

"Yet  what  have  I  gained  either  of  solid  good  or  even 
of  the  lighter  but  not  less  agreeable  matter  of  my  lady's 
favour.?  So  far  as  your  sister  is  concerned,  I  have 
■\yasted  my  time.     If  I  consider  a  union  of  our  peoples, 

JI4 


Prince  Wasp's  Compact 

already  one  In  heart,  your  brother  works  against  us 
both ;  the  Princess  Margaret  despises  me,  Prince 
Conrad  thwarts  us.  He  would  bind  us  in  chains  and 
carry  us  tinkling  to  the  feet  of  his  pagan  master  in 
Rome  !  " 

"  I  think  not  so,"  answered  Prince  Louis  —  "I  can- 
not think  so  of  my  brother,  with  all  his  faults.  Conrad 
is  a  brave  soldier,  a  good  knight,  though,  as  is  the  custom 
of  our  house,  it  is  his  lot  to  be  no  more  than  a  prince- 
bishop  !  " 

The  Wasp  laughed  a  little  hard  laugh,  clear  and  in- 
human as  the  snap  and  rattle  of  Spanish  castanets. 

"  Louis,  my  good  friend,  your  simplicity,  your  lack  of 
guile,  do  you  wrong  most  grievous  !  You  judge  others 
as  you  yourself  are.  Do  you  not  see  that  Conrad  your 
brother  must  pay  for  his  red  hat  ?  He  must  earn  his 
cardinalate.  Papa  Sixtus  gives  nothing  for  nothing. 
Courtland  must  pay  Peter's  pence,  must  become  monkish 
land.  On  every  ounce  of  stockfish,  every  grain  of 
sturgeon  roe,  every  ounce  of  marled  amber,  your  Holy 
Father  must  levy  his  sacred  dues.  And  the  clear  ambi- 
tion of  your  brother  is  to  make  you  chief  cat's-paw 
pontifical.      Consider  it,  good  Louis." 

And  the  Prince  of  Muscovy  twirled  his  moustache 
and  smiled  condescendingly  between  his  fingers.  Then, 
as  if  he  thought  suddenly  of  something  else  and  made  a 
new  calculation,  he  laughed  a  laugh,  quick  and  short  as 
the  bark  of  a  dog. 

"  Ha  !  "  he  cried,  "truly  we  order  things  better  in  tpv 
country.  I  have  brothers,  one,  two,  three.  They  arc 
grand  dukes,  highnesses  very  serene.  One  of  them  has 
this  province,  another  this  sinecure,  yet  another  waits  on 
my  father.  My  father  dies  —  and  I  —  well,  I  am  in 
my  father's  place.     What  will  my  brothers  do  with  their 

1^5 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

serene  highnesses  then  ?     They  will  take  each  one  the 
clearest  road  and  the  shortest  for  the  frontier,  or  by  the 
Holy  Icon  of  Moscow,  there  will  very  speedily  be  cer- 
tain new  tablets  in  the  funeral  vault  of  my  fathers." 
The  Prince  of  Courtland  started. 

"  This  thing  I  could  never  imagine  of  Conrad  my 
brother.  He  loves  me.  He  ever  cared  but  for  his 
books,  and  now  that  he  is  a  priest  he  hath  forsworn 
knighthood,  and  tournaments,  and  wars." 

"  Poor  Louis,"  said  Ivan  sadly,  "  not  to  see  that  once 
a  soldier  always  a  soldier.  But  't  is  a  good  fault,  a  gen- 
erous blindness  of  the  eyes.  He  hath  already  the  love 
of  your  people.  He  has  won  already  the  voice  that 
speaks  from  every  altar  and  presbytery.  The  power  to 
loose  and  bind  men's  conscience  is  in  his  hand.  In  a 
little,  when  he  has  bartered  away  your  power  for  his 
cardinal's  hat,  he  may  be  made  a  greater  than  yourself, 
an  elector  of  the  empire,  the  right-hand  man  of  Papa 
Sixtus,  as  his  uncle  Adrian  was  before  him.  Then  in- 
deed your  Courtland  will  underlie  the  tinkle  of  Peter's 
keys  I  " 

"  I  am  sure  that  Conrad  would  do  nothing  against  his 
fatherland  or  to  the  hurt  of  his  prince  and  brother!  "^ 
said  Prince  Louis,  but  he  spoke  in  a  wavering  voice, 
like  one  more  than  half  convinced. 

"  Again,"  continued  Ivan,  without  heeding  him,  "  there 
is  your  wife.  I  am  sure  that  if  he  had  been  the  prince 
and  you  the  priest  —  well,  she  had  not  slept  this  nighl 
in  the  Castle  of  Kernsbercr  !  " 

"  Ivan,  if  you  love  me,  be  silent,"  cried  the  tortured 
Prince  of  Courtland,  setting  his  hand  to  his  brow. 
"  This  is  mere  idle  dreaming  of  a  fool.  How  learned 
you  these  things  ?  I  mean,  how  did  the  thoughts  come 
into  your  mind  i"  " 

xi6 


Prince  Wasp's  Compact 

'  "  I  learned  the  matter  from  the  Princess  Margaret, 
who  in  the  brief  space  of  a  day  became  your  wife's 
confidante!  " 

"  Did  Margaret  tell  it  you  ?  " 

The  Prince  Ivan  laughed  a  short,  self-depreciatory 
laugh. 

"  Nay,  truly,"  he  said,  smiling  sadly,  "  you  and  I  are 
in  one  despite,  Louis.  Your  wife  scorns  you  —  me,  my 
sweetheart.  Did  Margaret  tell  me  ?  Nay,  verily  ! 
Yet  I  learned  it,  nevertheless,  even  more  certainly  be- 
cause she  denied  it  so  vehemently.  But,  after  all,  I 
dare  say  all  will  end  for  the  best." 

"  How  so  ?  "  demanded  Prince  Louis  haughtily. 

"  Why,  I  have  heard  that  your  papa  at  Rome  will  do 
aught  for  money.  Doubtless  he  will  dissolve  this  mar- 
riage, which  indeed  is  no  more  than  one  in  name.  He 
has  done  more  than  that  already  for  his  own  nephew. 
He  will  absolve  your  brother  from  his  vows.  Then  you 
can  be  the  monk  and  he  the  king.  There  will  be  a  new 
marriage,  at  which  doubtless  you  shall  hold  the  service 
book  and  he  the  ladv's  hand.  Then  we  shall  have  no 
ridings  back  to  Kernsberg,  with  four  hundred  lances,  at 
a  word  from  a  girl's  scornful  mouth.  And  the  Alia  down 
there  may  rise  or  fall  at  Its  pleasure,  and  neither  hurt  nor 
hinder  any  ! " 

The  Prince  of  Courtland  turned  an  angry  countenance 
upon  his  friend,  but  the  keen-witted  Muscovite  looked 
so  kindly  and  yet  so  sadly  upon  him  that  after  a  while 
the  severity  of  his  face  relaxed  as  it  had  been  against  his 
will,  and  with  a  quick  gesture  he  added,  "  I  believe  you 
love  me,  Ivan,  though  indeed  your  words  are  no  better 
than  red-hot  pincers  in  my  heart." 

"  Love  you,  Louis  ?  "  cried  Prince  Ivan.  "  I  love 
you  better  than   any  brother  I    have,  though  they  will 

iv/ 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

never  live  to  thwart  me  as  yours  thwarts  you  —  bettei 
even  than  my  father,  for  you  do  not  keep  me  out  of  my 
inheritance !  " 

Then  in  a  gayer  tone  he  went  on  : 

"  I  love  you  so  much  that  I  will  pledge  my  father's 
whole  army  to  help  vou,  first  to  win  your  wife,  next  to 
take  Hohenstein,  Kernsberg,  and  Marienfeld.  And  after 
that,  if  you  are  still  ambitious,  why  —  to  Plassenburg  and 
the  Wolfmark,  which  now  the  Executioner's  Son  holds. 
That  would  make  a  noble  kingdom  to  offer  a  fair  and 
wilful  queen." 

"  And  for  this  you  ask  —  ?  '* 

"  Only  your  love,  Louis  —  only  your  love  !  And, 
if  it  please  you,  the  alliance  with  that  Princess  of  your 
honourable  house,  of  which  we  spoke  just  now  1  " 

"  My  sister  Margaret,  you  mean  ?  I  will  do  what  I 
can,  Ivan,  but  she  also  is  wilful.  You  know  she  is  wil- 
ful !     I  cannot  compel  her  love  !  " 

The  Prince  Ivan  laughed. 

"  I  am  not  so  complaisant  as  you,  Louis,  nor  yet  so 
modest.  Give  me  my  bride  on  the  day  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand  sleeps  in  the  palace  of  Courtland  as  its 
princess,  and  I  will  take  my  chance  of  winning  our 
Margaret's  love  1 " 


ixS 


CHAPTER   XVII 

woman's  wilfulness 

JOAN  rode  on,  silent,  a  furlong  before  all  her  men. 
Behind  her  sulked  Maurice  von  Lynar.  Had  any 
been  there  to  note,  their  faces  were  now  strangely  alike 
in  feature,  and  yet  more  curiously  unlike  in  expression. 
Joan  gazed  forward  into  the  distance  like  a  soul  dead 
and  about  to  be  reborn,  planning  a  new  life.  Maurice 
von  Lynar  looked  more  like  a  naughty  schoolboy  whom 
some  tyrant  Fate,  rod-wielding,  has  compelled  to  obey 
against  his  will. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  expression,  it  was  Maurice  von  Lynar 
who  was  planning  the  future.  Joan's  heart  was  yet  too 
sore.  Her  tree  of  life  had,  as  it  were,  been  cut  off  close 
to  the  ground.  She  could  not  go  back  to  the  old  so  soon 
after  her  blissful  year  of  dreams.  There  was  to  be  no 
new  life  for  her.  She  could  not  take  up  the  old.  But 
Maurice  —  his  thoughts  were  all  of  the  Princess 
Margaret,  of  the  ripple  of  her  golden  hair,  of  her  pretty, 
wilful  words  and  ways,  of  that  dimple  on  her  chin,  and, 
above  all,  of  her  threat  to  seek  him  out  if —  but  it  was 
not  possible  that  she  could  mean  that.  And  yet  she 
looked  as  though  she  might  make  good  her  words.  Was 
it  possible  ?  He  posed  himself  with  this  question,  and 
for  half  an  hour  rode  on  oblivious  of  all  else. 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  half  conscious  that  someone 
had  been  speaking  to  him  from  an  infinite  distance ; 
"eh?      Did  you  speak,  Captain  von  Orseln  ? '* 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Von  Orseln  grunted  out  a  little  laugh,  almost  silently, 
indeed,  and  expressed  more  by  a  heave  of  his  shoulders 
than  by  any  alteration  of  his  features. 

"Speak,  indeed?  As  if  I  had  not  been  speaking 
these  five  minutes.  Well-nigh  had  I  stuck  my  poig- 
nard  in  thy  ribs  to  teach  you  to  mind  your  superior 
officer.     What  think  you  of  this  business  ?  " 

"  Think  ?  "  the  Sparhawk's  disappointment  burst  out. 
•*'  Think  ?  Why,  't  is  past  all  thinking.  Courtland  is 
shut  to  us  for  twenty  years." 

"Well,"  laughed  Von  Orseln,  "who  cares  for  that? 
Castle  Kernsberg  is  good  enough  for  me,  so  we  can 
hold  it." 

"  Hold  it  ?  "  cried  Maurice,  with  a  kind  of  joy  in  his 
face  ;  "  do  you  think  they  will  come  after  us  ?  " 

Von  Orseln  nodded  approval  of  his  spirit. 

"  Yes,  little  man,  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  if  you  have  been 
tVetting  to  come  to  blows  with  the  Courtlanders  you 
shall  be  satisfied.  I  would  we  had  only  these  lumpish 
Baltic  jacks  to  fear." 

Even  as  they  talked,  Castle  Kernsberg  floated  up  like 
a  cloud  before  them  above  the  blue  and  misty  plain, 
long  before  they  could  distinguish  the  walls  and  hundred 
gables  of  the  town  beneath. 

But  no  word  spoke  Joan  till  that  purple  shadow  had 
taken  shape  as  stately  stone  and  lime,  and  she  could 
discern  her  own  red  lion  flying  abreast  of  the  banner  of 
Louis  of  Courtland  upon  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  the 
round  tower. 

Then  on  a  little  mound  without  the  town  she  halted 
and  faced  about.  Von  Orseln  halted  the  troop  with  a 
backward  wave  of  his  hand. 

"  Men  of  Hohenstein,"  said  the  Duchess,  in  a  clear, 
far-reaching   alto,   "  you   have    followed    me,   asking  no 

I20 


Woman's  Wilfulness 

word  of  why  or  wherefore.  I  have  told  you  nothing, 
yet  is  an  explanation  due  to  you." 

There  came  the  sound  as  of  a  hoarse,  unanimous 
muttering  among  the  soldiers.  Joan  looked  at  Von 
Orseln  as  a  sign  for  him  to  interpret  it. 

"  They  say  that  they  are  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand's 
men,  and  that  they  will  disembowel  any  man  who  wants 
to  know  what  it  may  please  you  to  keep  secret." 

"  Aye,  or  question  by  so  much  as  a  lifted  eyebrow 
aught  that  it  may  please  your  Highness  to  do,"  added 
Captain  Peter  Balta,  from  the  right  of  the  first  troop. 

"  I  said  that  our  Duchess  could  never  live  in  such  a 
dog's  hole  as  Courtland,"  quoth  George  the  Hussite, 
who,  before  he  took  service  with  Henry  the  Lion,  had 
been  a  heretic  preacher.  "  In  Bohemia,  now,  where 
the  pines  grow " 

"  Hold  your  prate,  all  of  you,"  growled  Von  Orseln, 
"  or  you  will  find  where  hemp  grows,  and  why  !  My 
lady,"  he  added,  altering  his  voice  as  he  turned  to  her, 
"be  assured,  no  dog  in  Kernsberg  will  bark  an  interro- 
gative. Shall  our  young  Duchess  Joan  be  wived  and 
bedded  like  some  little  burgheress  that  sells  laces  and  tape 
all  day  long  on  the  Axel-Strasse  ?  Shall  the  daughter  of 
Henry  the  Lion  be  at  the  commandment  of  any  Bor- 
Russian  boor,  an  it  like  her  not  ?  Shall  she  get  a  burr 
in  her  throat  with  breathins;  the  rav/  fogs  of  the  Baltic  ? 
Not  a  word,  most  gracious  lady  ?  Explain  nothing. 
Extenuate  nothing.  It  is  the  will  of  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand  —  that  is  enough;  and,  by  the  word  of  Werner 
von  Orseln,  it  shall  be  enough  !  " 

"  It  is  the  will  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand !  It  is 
enough!"  repeated  the  four  hundred  lances,  like  a  class 
that  learns  a  lesson  by  rote. 

A  lump  rose  in  Joan's  throat  as   she  tried   to  shape 

121 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

into  words  the  thoughts  that  surged  within  her.  She 
felt  strangely  weak.  Her  pride  was  not  the  same  as  of 
old,  for  the  heart  of  a  woman  had  grown  up  within  her 
—  a  heart  of  flesh.  Surely  that  could  not  be  a  tear  in 
her  eye  ?  No ;  the  wind  blew  shrewdly  out  of  the  west, 
to  which  they  were  riding.  Von  Orseln  noted  the 
struggle  and  took  up  his  parable  once  more. 

"The  pact  is  carried  out.  The  lands  united — the 
will  of  Henry  the  Lion  done !  What  more  ?  Shall  the 
free  Princess  be  the  huswife  of  a  vellow  Baltic  dwarf? 
When  we  go  into  the  town  and  they  ask  us,  we  will  say 
but  this,  '  Our  Lady  misliked  the  fashion  of  his  beard  ! ' 
That  will  be  reason  good  and  broad  and  deep,  sufficient 
alike  for  greybeard  carl  and  prattling  bairn  !  " 

"  I  thank  you,  noble  gentlemen,"  said  Joan.  "  Now, 
as  you  say,  let  us  ride  into  Kernsberg." 

"  And  pull  down  that  flag  !  "  cried  Maurice,  pointing 
to  the  black  Courtland  Eagle  which  flew  so  steadily 
beside  the  coronated  lion  of  Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein, 

"  And  pray,  sir,  why  ? "  said  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand.     "  Am   I  not  also  Princess  of  Courtland  .? " 

From  woman's  wilfulness  all  things  somehow  have 
their  beginning.  Yet  of  herself  she  is  content  with  few 
things  (so  that  she  has  what  she  wants),  somewhat  Spar- 
tan in  fare  if  let  alone,  and  no  dinner-eating  animal. 
Wine,  tobacco,  caviare,  Strasburg  goose-liver  —  Epi- 
curus's  choicest  gifts  to  men  of  this  world  —  are  con- 
temned by  womankind.  Left  to  their  own  devices,  they 
prefer  a  drench  of  sweet  mead  or  hvdromel  laced  with 
water,  or  even  of  late  the  China  brev/  that  filters  in 
black  bricks  through  the  country  of  the  Muscovite. 
Nevertheless,  to  woman's  wantings  may  be  traced  all 
restraints  and  judgments,  from  the  sword  flaming  every 

122 


Woman's  Wilfulness 

way  about  Eden-gate  to  the  last  merchant  declared  bank- 
rupt and  "  dyvour "  upon  the  exchange  flags  of  Ham- 
burg town.  Eve  did  not  eat  the  apple  when  she  got  it. 
She  hasted  to  give  it  away.  She  only  vi^anted  it  because 
it  had  been  forbidden. 

So  also  Joan  of  Hohenstein  desired  to  go  down  with 
Dessauer  that  she  might  look  upon  the  man  betrothed  to 
her  from  birth.  She  went.  She  looked,  and  within  her 
there  grew  up  a  heart  of  flesh.  Then,  when  the  stroke 
fell,  that  heart  uprose  in  quick,  intemperate  revolt. 
And  what  might  have  issued  in  the  dull  compliance  of 
a  Princess  whose  life  was  settled  for  her  became  the 
imperious  revolt  of  a  woman  against  an  intolerable  and 
loathsome  impossibility. 

So  in  her  Castle  of  Kernsberg  Joan  waited.  But  not 
idlv.  All  day  long  and  every  day  Maurice  von  Lynar 
rode  on  her  service.  The  hillmen  gathered  to  his  word, 
and  in  the  courtyard  the  stormy  voices  of  George  the 
Hussite  and  Peter  Balta  were  never  hushed.  The  shep- 
herds from  the  hills  went  to  and  fro,  marching  and 
countermarching,  wheeling  and  charging,  porting  musket 
and  thrusting  pike,  till  all  Kernsberg  was  little  better 
than  a  barracks,  and  the  maidens  sat  wet-eyed  at  their 
knitting  by  the  fire  and  thought,  "  Well  for  her  to  please 
herself  whom  she  shall  marry  —  but  how  about  us,  with 
never  a  lad  In  the  town  to  whistle  us  out  in  the  gloam- 
ing, or  to  thumb  a  pebble  against  the  window-lattice 
from  the  deep  edges  of  the  ripening  corn  ?  " 

But  there  were  two,  at  least,  within  the  realm  of  the 
Duchess  Joan  who  knew  no  drawbacks  to  their  joy,  who 
rubbed  palm  on  palm  and  nudged  each  other  for  pure 
gladness.  These  (it  is  sad  to  say)  were  the  military 
attaches  of  the  neighbouring  peaceful  State  of  Plassen- 
burg.     Yet  they  had  been  specially  cautioned   by  their 

123 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Prince  Hugo,  in  the  presence  of  his  wife  Helene,  the 
hereditary  Princess,  that  they  were  most  carefully  to 
avoid  all  international  complications.  They  were  on  no 
account  to  take  sides  in  any  quarrel.  They  must  do 
nothing  prejudicial  to  the  peace,  neutrality,  and  universal 
amity  of  the  State  and  Princedom  of  Plassenburg.  Such 
were  their  instructions. 

They  promised  faithfully. 

But,  their  names  being  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian, 
they  now  rubbed  their  hands  and  nudged  each  other. 
They  ought  also  to  have  been  in  their  chamber  in  the 
Castle  of  Kernsberg,  busily  concocting  despatches  to 
their  master  and  mistress,  giving  an  account  of  these 
momentous  happenings. 

Instead,  how  is  it  that  we  find  them  lying  on  that 
spur  of  the  Jagernbergen  which  overlooks  the  passes  of 
the  Alia,  watching  the  gathering  of  the  great  storm 
which  in  the  course  of  days  was  to  break  over  the 
domains  of  the  Duchess  Joan  —  who  had  refused  and 
slighted  her  wedded  husband,  Louis,  Prince  of  Courtland  ? 

Being  powerfully  resourceful  men,  long,  lean  Boris 
and  rotund  Jorian  had  found  a  way  out  of  the  apparent 
difficultv.  There  had  come  with  them  from  Plassenburg 
a  commission  written  upon  an  entire  square  of  sheepskin 
by  a  secretary  and  sealed  with  the  seal  of  Leopold  von 
Dessauer,  High  Councillor  of  the  United  Princedom  and 
Duchy,  bearing  that  "  In  the  name  of  Hugo  and  Plelene 
our  well-loved  lieges  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian  are 
empowered  to  act  and  treat,"  and  so  forth.  This  mo- 
mentous deed  was  tied  about  the  middle  with  a  red  string, 
and  presented  withal  so  courtly  and  respectable  an  ap- 
pearance to  the  uncritical  eyes  of  the  ex-men-at-arms 
themselves,  that  they  felt  almost  anything  excusable 
which  they  might  do  in  its  name. 

124 


Woman's  Wilfulness 

Before  leaving  Kernsberg,  Boris  placed  this  great  red- 
waisted  parchment  roll  in  his  bed,  leaning  it  anglewise 
against  his  pillow.  Jorian  tossed  a  spare  dagger  with 
the  arms  of  Plassenburg  beside  it. 

"  There  —  let  the  civil  power  and  the  military  for 
once  lie  down  together ! "  he  said,  "  we  delegate  our 
authority  to  these  two  during  our  absence." 

To  the  silent  Plassenburgers  who  had  accompanied 
them,  and  who  now  kept  their  door  with  unswerving 
attention,  Boris  explained  himself  briefly. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  when  you  are  asked,  that  the 
envoys  of  Plassenburg  are  ill — ill  of  a  dangerous  and 
most  contagious  disease.  Also,  they  are  asleep.  They 
must  on  no  account  be  waked.  The  windows  must  be 
kept  darkened.  It  is  a  great  pity.  You  are  desolated. 
You  understand.  The  first  time  I  have  more  money 
than   I  can  spend  you  shall  have  ten  marks  1  " 

The  men-at-arms  understood,  which  was  no  wonder, 
for  Boris  generally  contrived  to  make  himself  very  clear. 
But  they  thought  within  them  that  their  chances  of 
financial  benefit  from  their  captain's  conditional  gener- 
osity were  worth  about  a  stiver. 

So  these  two,  being  now  free  fighting  men,  as  It  were, 
soldiers  of  fortune,  lay  waiting  on  the  slopes  of  the 
Jagernbergen,  talking  over  the  situation. 

"  A  man  surely  has  a  right  to  his  own  wife  ! "  said 
Jorian,  taking  for  the  sake  of  argument  the  conventional 
side. 

"  Narre)i-Possen-^  Jorian ! "  cried  Boris,  raising  his 
voice  to  the  indignation  point.  "  Clotted  nonsense  ! 
Who  is  going  to  keep  a  man's  wife  for  him  if  he  cannot 
doit  himself?  And  he  a  prince,  and  within  his  own  city 
and  fortress,  too.  She  boxed  his  cars,  they  say,  and 
rode  away  telling   him   that   if  he  wanted   her   he  might 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

come  and  take  her !  A  pretty  spirit,  i'  faith  !  Too 
good  for  such  a  dried  stockfish  of  the  Baltic,  with  not  so 
much  spirit  as  a  speckled  flounder  on  his  own  mud-flats ! 
Faitn  !  if  I  were  a  marrying  man,  I  would  run  off  with 
the  iass  myself.  She  ought  at  least  to  be  a  soldier's 
wife/' 

"  The  trouble  is  that  so  far  she  feels  no  necessity  to 
be  anyone's  wife,"  said  Jorian,  shifting  his  ground. 

"That  also  is  nonsense,"  said  Boris,  who,  spite  his 
defence  of  Joan,  held  the  usual  masculine  views. 
''  Every  woman  wishes  to  marry,  if  she  can  only  have 
first  choice." 

"  There  they  come  !  "  whispered  Jorian,  whose  eyes 
had  never  wandered  from  the  long,  wavering  lines  of 
willow  and  alder  which  marked  the  courses  of  the  slug- 
gish streams  flowing  east  towards  the  Alia. 

Boris  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  long  beneath  his 
hand.  Very  far  away  there  was  a  sort  of  white  tremu- 
lousness  in  the  atmosphere  which  after  a  while  began  to 
give  off  Httle  luminous  glints  and  sparkles,  as  the  sea 
does  when  a  shaft  of  moonlight  touches  it  through  a 
dark  canopy  of  cloud. 

Then  there  arose  from  the  level  green  plain  first  one 
tall  column  of  dense  black  smoke  and  then  another,  till 
as  far  as  they  could  see  to  the  left  the  plain  was  full  of 
them. 

"  God's  truth  !  "  cried  Jorian,  "they  are  burning  the 
farms  and  herds'  houses.  I  thought  they  had  been 
Christians  in  Courtland.  But  these  are  more  like  Duke 
Casimir's  devil's  tricks." 

Boris  did  not  immediately  answer.  His  eyes  were 
busy  seeing,  his  brain  setting  in  order. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  of  intense 
Interest,    "these  are   no   fires   lighted    by    Courtlanders, 

125 


Woman's  Wilfulness 

The  heavy  Baltic  knights  could  never  ride  so  fast  nar 
spread  so  far.  The  Muscovite  is  out !  These  are  Cos- 
sack fires.  Bravo,  Jorian  !  we  shall  yet  have  our  Hugo 
here  with  his  axe  !  He  will  never  suffer  the  bear  so 
near  his  borders." 

"  Let  us  go  down,"  said  Jorian,  "  or  we  shall  miss 
some  of  the  fun.  In  two  hours  they  will  be  at  the  fords 
of  the  Alia!" 

So  they  looked  to  their  arms  and  went  down. 

"  What  do  you  here  ?  Go  back  !  "  shouted  Werner 
von  Orseln,  who  with  his  men  lay  waiting  behind  the 
floodbanks  of  the  Alia.  "  This  is  not  your  quarrel ! 
Go  back,  Plassenburgers  !  " 

"  We  have  for  the  time  being  demitted  our  office," 
exclaimed  Boris.  "  The  envoys  of  Plassenburg  are  at 
home  in  bed,  sick  of  a  most  sanguinary  fever.  We  offer 
you  our  swords  as  free  fighting  men  and  good  Teuts. 
The  Muscovites  are  over  yonder.  Lord,  to  think  that  I 
have  lived  to  forty-eight  and  never  yet  killed  even  one 
bearded  Russ  !  " 

"  You  may  mend  that  record  shortly,  to  all  appear- 
ance, if  you  have  luck  I "  said  Von  Orseln  grimly. 
*'  And  this  gentleman  here,"  he  added,  looking  at  Jorian, 
*'  is  he  also  in  bed,  sick  ?  " 

"  My  sword  is  at  your  service,"  said  the  round  one, 
"  though  I  should  prefer  a  musketoon,  if  it  is  all  the  same 
to  you.  It  will  be  something  to  do  till  these  firebrands 
come  within  arm's  length  of  us." 

"  I  have  here  two  which  are  very  much  at  your  ser- 
vice, if  you  know  how  to  use  them  !  "   said  Werner. 

The  men-at-arms  laughed. 

"  We  know  their  tricks  better  than  those  of  our 
sweethearts  !  "  they  said,  "  and  those  we  know  well !  " 

"  Here  they  be,  then,"  said  Von   Orseln.     '♦  I  sent  a 

127 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

couple  of  men  spurring  to  warn  my  lady  Joan,  and  I 
bade  them  leave  their  muskets  and  bandoliers  till  they 
came  back,  that  they  might  ride  the  lighter  to  and  from 
Kernsberg." 

Boris  and  Jorlan  took  the  spare  pieces  with  a  glow  of 
gratitude,  which  was,  however,  very  considerably  modi- 
fied when  they  discovered  the  state  in  which  their 
former  owners  had   kept  them. 

"  Dirty  Wendish  pigs,"  they  said  (which  was  their 
favorite  malediction,  though  they  themselves  were 
Wends  of  the  Wends).  "Were  they  but  an  hour  in 
our  camp  they  should  ride  the  wooden  horse  with  these 
muskets  tied  to  their  soles  to  keep  them  firmly  down. 
Faugh  !  " 

And  Jorian  withdrew  his  finger  from  the  muzzle, 
black  as  soot  with  the  grease  of  uncleansed  powder. 

Looking  up  they  saw  that  the  priest  with  the  little 
army  of  Kernsberg  was  praying  fervently  (after  the 
Hussite  manner,  without  book)  for  the  safety  of  the 
State  and  person  of  their  lady  Duchess,  and  that  the 
men  were  listening  bareheaded  beneath  the  green  slope 
of  the  water-dyke. 

«  Go  on  cleaning,"  said  Boris ;  "  this  is  some  heretic 
function,  and  might  sap  our  morality.  We  are  volun- 
teers, anyway,  as  well  as  the  best  of  good  Catholics. 
We  do  not  need  unlicensed  prayers.  If  you  have  quite 
done  with  that  rag-stick,  lend  it  to  me,  Jorian  1  " 


12^ 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CAPTAINS    BORIS    AND    JORIAN    PROMOTE    PEACE 

NOW  this  is  the  report  which  Captains  Boris  and 
Jorian,  envoys  (very)  extraordinary  from  the  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Plassenburg  to  the  reigning  Duchess  of 
Hohenstein,  made,  upon  their  return  from  the  fords  of 
the  Alia,  to  their  home  government. 

They  wrote  it  in  collaboration,  on  the  usual  plan  of 
one  working  and  the  other  assisting  him  with  advice. 

Jorian,  being  of  the  rotund  and  complaisant  faction, 
acquiesced  in  the  proposal  that  he  should  do  the  writing. 
But  as  he  never  got  beyond,  "  To  our  honoured  Lord 

and  Lady  Hugo  and  Helene,  these "  there  needs 

not  to  be  any  particularity  as  to  his  manner  of  acting  the 
scribe.  He  mended  a  pen  till  it  looked  like  a  brush 
worn  to  the  straggling  point.  He  squared  his  elbows 
and  overset  the  inkhorn.  He  daubed  an  entire  folio  of 
paper  with  a  completeness  which  left  nothing  to  the  im- 
agination. 

Then  he  remembered  that  he  knew  where  a  secretary 
was  in  waiting.  He  would  go  and  borrow  him.  Jorian 
re-entered  their  bedroom  with  a  beaming  smile,  and  the 
secretary  held  by  the  sleeve  to  prevent  his  escape.  Both 
felt  that  the  report  was  as  good  as  written.  It  began 
thus  :  — 

"  With  great  assiduity  (a  word  suggested  by  the  sec- 
retary)   your    envoys     remembered    your     Highnesses' 

1^9 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

princely  advice  and  command  that  we  should  involve 
ourselves  in  no  warfare  or  other  local  disagreement.  So 
when  we  heard  that  Hohenstein  was  to  be  invaded  bv 
the  troops  of  the  Prince  of  Courtland  we  were  deeply 
grieved. 

"  Nevertheless,  judging  it  to  be  for  the  good  of  our 
country  that  we  should  have  a  near  view  of  the  fighting, 
we  left  worthy  and  assured  substitutes  in  our  place  and 
room  — " 

"  The  parchment  commission  with  a  string  round  his 
belly  '  "  explained.  Jorian,  in  answer  to  the  young  secre- 
tary's lifted  eyebrow ;  "  there  he  is,  hiding  behind  the 
faggot-chest." 

"  Get  on,  Boris,"  quoth  Jorian,  from  the  settee  on 
which  he  had  thrown  himself  j  "  it  is  your  turn  to 
lie." 

"  Good  !  "  says  Boris.     And  did  it  as  followeth  :  — 
.     ••' We  left  our  arms  behind  us  —  " 

"  Such  as  we  could  not  carry,"  added  Jorian  under  his 
breath.  The  secretary,  a  wise  youth  —  full  of  the  new 
learning  and  of  talk  concerning  certain  books  printed  on 
paper  and  bound  all  with  one  ^r«r,^  of  a  great  machine 
like  a  cheese-press  —  held  his  pen  suspended  over  the 
paper  in  doubt  what  to  write. 

«  Do  not  mind  him,"  said  Boris,  "  I  am  dictating  this 

report." 

"  Yes,  my  lord  !  "  replied  the  secretary    from  behind 

his  hand. 

"  We  left  our  arms  and  armour  behind  us,  and  went 
out  to  make  observations  in  the  interest  of  your  High- 
nesses' armies.  Going  down  through  the  woods  we  saw 
many  wild  swine,  exceeding  fierce.  But  having  no 
means  of  hunting  these,  we  evaded  them,  all  save  one, 
which   misfortunately  met  its  death  by   falling  against  a 


130 


Boris  and  Jorian  Promote  Peace 

spear  in  the  hands  of  Captain  Boris,  and  another,  also  of 
the  male  sex,  shot  dead  by  Jorian's  pistol,  which  went 
off  by  accident  as  it  was  passing." 

"  1  have  already  written  that  your  arms  were  left  at 
home,  according  to  your  direction,"  said  the  secretary, 
who  was  accustomed  to  criticise  the  composition  of 
diplomatic  reports. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  growled  Boris,  bending  his  brows  upon 
such  superfluity  cf  virtue  ;  "  a  little  thing  like  that  will 
never  be  noticed.  Besides  a  man  must  carry  something. 
We  had  no  cannon  or  battering  rams  with  us,  therefore  we 
were  unarmed  — to  all  intents  and  purposes,  that  is !  " 

The  secretary  sighed.  Verily  life  (as  Von  Orseln 
averred)  must  be  easy  in  Plassenburg,  if  such  stories 
would  pass  with  the  Prince.  And  now  it  seemed  as  if 
they  would. 

"  We  found  the  soldiers  of  the  Duchess  Joan  waiting 
at  the  fords  of  the  Alia,  which  is  the  eastern  border  of 
their  province.  There  were  not  many  of  them,  but  all 
good  soldiers.  The  Courtlanders  came  on  in  myriads, 
with  Muscovites  without  number.  These  last  burned 
and  slew  all  in  their  path.  Now  the  men  of  Hohenstein 
are  good  to  attack,  but  their  fault  is  that  they  are  not 
patient  to  defend.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  not  long  after 
we  arrived  at  the  fords  of  the  Alia,  one  Werner  won 
Orseln,  commander  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Duchess,  or- 
dered that  his  men  should  attack  the  Courtlanders  in 
front.  Whereupon  they  crossed  the  ford,  when  they 
should  have  stayed  behind  their  shelter.  It  waS  bravely 
done,  but  had  better  have  been  left  undone. 

"  Remembering,  however,  your  orders  and  our  duty, 
we  advanced  with  him,  hoping  that  by  some  means  we 
might  be  able  to  promote  peace. 

"  This  we  did.     For    wonderful  as  it  may  appear)  we 


iji 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

convinced  no  fewer  than  ten  Muscovites  whom  we  found 
sacking  a  farm,  and  their  companions,  four  sutlers  of 
Courtland,  that  it  was  wrong  to  slay  and  ravish  in  a 
peaceful  country.  In  the  heat  of  the  argument  Captain 
Boris  received  a  bullet  through  his  shoulder  which  caused 
us  for  the  time  being  to  cease  our  appeal  and  fall  back. 
The  Muscovites,  however,  made  no  attempt  to  follow 
us.  Our  arguments  had  been  sufficient  to  convince 
them  of  the  wickedness  of  their  action.  We  hope  to 
receive  your  princely  approval  of  this  our  action — peace 
being,  in  our  opinion,  the  greatest  blessing  which  any 
nation  can  enjoy.  For  without  flattery  we  may  say  that 
if  others  had  argued  with  equal  persuasiveness,  the  end 
would  have  been   happier. 

"Then,  being  once  more  behind  the  flood-dikes  of  the 
Alia,  Captain  Jorian  examined  the  hurt  of  Captain  Boris 
which  he  had  received  In  the  peace  negotiations  with  the 
Muscovites.  It  was  but  a  flesh  wound,  happily,  and  was 
soon  bound  up.  But  the  pain  of  it  acted  upon  both  your 
envoys  as  an  additional  incentive  to  put  an  end  to  the 
horrors  of  war. 

"  So  when  a  company  of  the  Infantry  of  Courtland,  with 
whom  we  had  hitherto  had  no  opportunity  of  wrestling 
persuasively,  attacked  the  fords,  wading  as  deep  as  mid- 
thigh,  we  took  upon  us  to  rebuke  them  for  their  forward- 
ness. And  accordingly  they  desisted,  some  retreating  to 
the  further  shore,  while  others,  finding  the  water  pleasant, 
remained,  and  floated  peacefully  down  with  the  current. 

"  This  also,  In  some  measure,  made  for  peace,  and  we 
humbly  hope  for  the  approval  of  your  Highnesses,  when 
you  have  remarked  our  careful  observance  of  all  your 
instructions. 

"  If  only  we  had  had  with  us  our  several  companies 
of  the  Regiment  of  Karl,  the  Miller's  Son,  to  aid  us  in 


K2 


Boris  and  Jorian  Promote  Peace 

the  discussion,  more  Cossacks  and  Strclits  might  have 
been  convinced,  and  the  final  result  have  been  different. 
Nevertheless,  we  did  what  we  could,  and  were  success- 
ful with  many  beyond  our  hopes. 

"  But  the  men  of  Hohenstein  being  so  few^  and  those 
of  Courtland  with  their  allies  so  many,  the  river  was 
overpassed  both  above  and  below  the  fords.  Whereupon 
I  pressed  it  upon  Werner  von  Orseln  that  he  should 
retreat  to  a  place  of  greater  hope  and  safety,  being  thus 
in  danger  on  both  flanks. 

"  For  your  envoys  have  a  respect  for  Werner  von 
Orseln,  though  we  grieve  to  report  that,  being  a  man  ot 
war  from  his  youth  up,  he  does  not  display  that  desire 
for  peace  which  your  good  counsels  have  so  deeply  im- 
planted in  our  breasts,  and  which  animates  the  hearts 
of  Boris  and  Jorian,  captains  in  the  princely  guard  of 
Plassenburg." 

"  Put  that  in,  till  I  have  time  to  think  what  is  to  come 
next!"  said  Boris,  waving  his  hand  to  the  secretary. 
"We  are  doing  pretty  well,  I  think  1  "  he  added,  turning 
to  his  companion,  with  all  the  self-consciousness  of  an 
amateur  in  words. 

"  Let  us  now  tell  more  about  Von  Orseln,  and  how 
he  would  in  no  wise  listen  to  us !  "  suggested  Jorian. 
"  But  let  us  not  mix  the  mead  too  strong  1  Our  Hugo 
is  shrewd  !  " 

"  This  Werner  von  Orseln  (be  it  known  to  your  high 
Graciousnesses)  was  the  chief  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our 
making  peace,  except,  perhaps,  those  Muscovites  with 
whom  we  were  unable  to  argue,  having  no  opportunity. 
This  Werner  had  fought  all  the  day,  and,  though  most 
recklessly  exposing  himself,  was  still  unhurt.  His  armour 
was  covered  with  blood  and  black  with  powder  after  the 
fashion   of  these  wild    hot-bloods.      His    face   also   was 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

stainrd,  and  when   he  spoke   it  was  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
The  matter  of  his  discourse  to  us   was  this :  — 

"  '  I  can  do  no  more.  My  people  are  dead,  my  pow- 
der spent.  They  are  more  numerous  than  the  sea  sands. 
They  are  behind  us  and  before,  also  outflanking  us  on 
either  side.' 

"  Then  we  advised  him  to  set  his  face  to  Hohenstein  and 
with  those  who  were  left  to  him  to  retreat  in  that  direc- 
tion. We  accompanied  him,  bearing  in  mind  your  royal 
commands,  and  eager  to  do  all  that  in  us  lay  to  advance 
the  interests  of  amity.  The  enemy  fetched  a  compass  to 
close  us  in  on  every  side. 

"Whereupon  we  argued  with  them  again  to  the  bes*- 
of  our  ability.  There  ensued  some  slight  noise  and  con- 
fusion, so  that  Captain  Boris  forgot  his  wound,  and  Cap- 
tain Jorian  admits  that  in  haste  he  may  have  spoken 
uncivilly  to  several  Bor-Russian  gentry  who  thrust  them- 
selves in  his  way.  And  for  this  unseemly  conduct  he 
craves  the  pardon  of  their  Highnesses  Hugo  and  Helena, 
his  beloved  master  and  mistress.  However,  as  no  com- 
plaint has  been  received  from  the  enemy's  headquarters, 
no  breach  of  friendly  relations  may  be  apprehended. 
Captain  Boris  is  of  opinion  that  the  Muscovite  boors 
did  not  understand  Captain  Jorian's  Teuton  language. 
At  least  they  were  not  observed   to   resent   his  words. 

"  In  this  manner  were  the  invaders  of  Hohenstein 
broken  through,  and  the  remnant  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
Duchess  Joan  reached  Kernsberg  in  safety  —  a  result 
which,  we  flatter  ourselves,  was  as  much  due  to  the  zeal 
and  persuasiveness  of  your  envoys  as  to  the  skill  and 
bravery  of  Werner  von  Orseln  and  the  soldiers  of  the 
Duchess. 

"  And  your  humble  servants  will  ever  pray  for  the 
triumph  of  peace  and  concord,  and  also   for  an  undis- 

134 


Boris  and  Jorian  Promote  Peace 

turbed  reign  to  your  Highnesses  through  countless  years. 
In  token  whereof  we  append  our  signatures  and  seals. 

"  Boris. 
"Jorian." 

"  Is  not  that  last  somewhat  overstrained  about  peace 
and  concord  and  so  forth  ?  "  asked  Jorian  anxiously. 

"Not  a  whit  —  not  a  whit !  "  cried  Boris,  who,  hav- 
ing finished  his  composition,  was  wholly  satisfied  with 
himself,  after  the  manner  of  the  beginner  in  letters. 
"  Our  desire  to  promote  peace  needs  to  be  put  strongly, 
in  order  to  carry  persuasion  to  their  Highnesses  in  Plas- 
senburg.  In  fact,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  has  been  put 
strongly  enough  ! " 

"I  am  troubled  with  some  few  doubts  myself!"  said 
Jorian,  under  his  breath. 

And  as  the  secretary  jerked  the  ink  from  his  pen  he 
smiledc 


*3'j. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

JOAN    STANDS    WITHIN    HER    DANGER 

SO  soon  as  Werner  von  Orseln  returned  to  Castle 
Kernsberg  with  news  of  the  forcing  of  the  Alia 
and  the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the  Muscovite  hordes, 
the  sad-eyed  Duchess  of  Hohenstein  became  once  more 
Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand. 

Hitherto  she  had  doubted  and  feared.  But  now  the 
thought  of  Prince  Wasp  and  his  Muscovite  savages 
steadied  her,  and  she  was  here  and  there,  in  every  bastion 
of  the  Castle,  looking  especially  to  the  gates  which  com- 
manded the  roads  to  Courtland  and  Plassenburg. 

Her  one  thought  was,  "  Will  he  be  here  ?  " 

And  again  she  saw  the  knight  of  the  white  plume 
storm  through  the  lists  of  Courtland,  and  the  enemy  go 
down  before  him.     Ah,  if  only  —  ! 

The  invading  army  must  have  numbered  thirty  thou- 
sand, at  least.  There  were,  all  told,  about  two  thousand 
in  Kernsberg.  Von  Orseln,  indeed,  could  easily  have 
raised  more.  Nay,  they  would  have  come  in  of  them- 
selves by  hundreds  to  fight  for  their  Duchess,  but  the 
little  hill  town  could  not  feed  more.  Yet  Joan  was  not 
discouraged.  She  joked  with  Peter  Balta  upon  the  louts 
of  Courtlanders  taking  the  Castle  which  Henry  the  Lion 
had  fortified.  The  Courtlanders,  indeed !  Had  not 
Duke  Casimir  assaulted  Kernsberg  in  vain,  and  even 
the  great   Margraf  George  threatened  it  I     Yet  still  it 


Joan  Stands  within  Her  Danger 

remained  a  virgin  fortress,  looking  out  over  the  fertile 
and  populous  plain.  But  now  w^hat  were  left  of  the 
shepherds  had  fled  to  the  deep-bosomed  mountains  with 
their  flocks.  The  cattle  were  hidden  in  the  thickest 
woods  J  only  the  white  farm-houses  remained  tenantless, 
silently  waiting  the  coming  of  the  spoiler.  And  now, 
stripped  for  combat,  Castle  Kernsberg  looked  out  towards 
the  invader,  the  rolling  plain  in  front  of  it,  behind  the 
grim,  intricate  hill  country  of  Hohenstein. 

When  Werner  von  Orseln  and  Peter  Balta  met  the 
invader  at  the  fords  of  the  Alia,  Maurice  von  Lynar  and 
Alt  Pikker  had  remained  with  Joan,  nominally  to  assist 
her  dispositions,  but  really  to  form  a  check  upon  the  im- 
petuosity of  her  temper. 

Now  Von  Orseln  was  back  again.  The  fords  of  the 
Alia  were  forced,  and  the  fighting  strength  of  Kernsberg 
united  itself  in  the  Eagle's  Nest  to  make  its  final  stand. 

Aloft  on  the  highest  ramparts  there  was  a  terrace  walk 
which  the  Sparhawk  much  aft'ected,  specially  when  he 
was  on  guard  at  night.  It  looked  towards  the  east,  and 
from  it  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Courtlanders  would  be 
obtained. 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  guard  they  were  drinking  their 
nightly  toast.  The  shouting  might  have  been  heard  in 
the  town,  where  at  street  corners  were  groups  of  youths 
exercising  late  with  wooden  spears  and  mimic  armour, 
crying  "  Hurrah,   Kernsberg  !  " 

They  changed  it,  however,  in  imitation  of  their  betters 
in  the  Castle  above. 

"  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  !      Hoch  !  " 

The  shout  went  far  into  the  night.  Again  and  yet 
again  it  was  repeated  from  the  crowded  board  in  the 
hall  of  the  men-at-arms  and  from  the  gloomy  streets 
beneathe 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

When  all  was  over,  the  Sparhawk  ros.e,  belted  his 
sword  a  hole  tighter,  set  a  steel  cap  without  a  visor  upon 
his  head,  glanced  at  Werner  von  Orseln,  and  withdrew, 
leaving  the  other  captains  to  their  free-running  jest  and 
laughter.  Captain  Boris  of  Plassenburg  was  telling  a 
story  with  a  countenance  more  than  ordinarily  grave 
and  earnest,  while  the  table  round  rang  with  contagious 
mirth. 

The  Sparhawk  found  the  high  terrace  of  the  Lion 
Tower  guarded  by  a  sentry.  Him  he  removed  to  the 
foot  of  the  turret-stair,  with  orders  to  permit  no  one 
save  Werner  von  Orseln  to  pass  on  any  pretext. 

Presently  the  chief  captain's  step  was  heard  on  the 
stone  turnpike. 

"  Ha,  Sparhawk,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  cold  cheer  1 
Why  could  we  not  have  talked  comfortably  in  hall, 
with  a   beaker  of  mead  at   one's  elbow  I  " 

"  The  enemy  are  not  in  sight,"  said  the  Sparhawk 
gloomily. 

"  Well,  that  is  bad  luck,"  said  Werner  ;  "  but  do  not 
be  afraid,  you  will  have  your  chance  yet  —  indeed,  all 
you  want  and  a  little  over  —  in  the  way  of  killing 
Muscovites." 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  v/ith  you  on  a  matter  we  cannot 
mention  elsewhere,"  said  Maurice  von  Lynar. 

The  chief  captain  stopped  in  his  stride,  drew  his  cloak 
about  him,  rested  his  thigh  on  a  square  battlement,  and 
resigned   himself. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  youth  has  ever  yeasty  brains. 
Go  on." 

"  I  would  speak  of  my  lady  !  "  said  the  youth. 
*■'■  So  would   most  mooncalves  of  your  age  !  "  growled 
Werner ;    "  but    they    du   not   usually    bring  their  corn- 
ni.andrng  officers   up  to  the  housetops  to  do  it  I  " 

138 


Joan  Stands  witliin  Her  Danger 

"  I  mean  our  lady,  the  Duchess  Joan  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Werner,  with  the  persiflage  gone  out  of 
his  tone,  "  that  is  altoo-ether  another  matter." 

And  the  two  men  were  silent  for  a  minute,  both  look- 
ing out  into  the  blackness  where  no  stars  shone  nor  any 
light  twinkled  beyond  the  walls  of  the  little  fortified 
hill  town. 

At  last  Maurice  von  Lynar  spoke. 

"  How  long  can  we  hold  out  if  they  besiege  us  ?  " 

"  Two  months,  certainly  —  with  luck,  three  !  " 

"  And  then  ?  " 

Werner  von  Orseln  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  only 
said,  "  A  soldier  never  anticipates  disaster  !  " 

"  And  what  of  the  Duchess  Joan  ?  "  persisted  the 
young   man. 

"  Why,  in  the  same  time  she  will  be  dead  or  wed  !  " 
said  Von  Orseln,  with  an  affectation  of  carelessness 
easily   seen  through. 

The  young  man  burst  out,  "  Dead  she  may  be  !  1 
know  she  will  never  be  wife  to  that  Courtland  Death's- 
head.  I  saw  it  in  her  eyes  that  day  in  their  Cathedral, 
when  she  bade  me  slip  out  and  bring  up  our  four  hun- 
dred lances  of  Kernsberg." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  Werner  shortly.  "  I  for  one, 
set  no  bounds  to  any  woman's  likings  or  mislikings  !  " 

"  We  must  get  her  away  to  a  place  of  safety,"  said 
the  young  man.     Von   Orseln   laughed. 

"  Get  her  ?  Who  would  persuade  or  compel  our 
lady  ?  Whither  would  she  go  ?  Would  she  be  safer 
there  than  here  ?  Would  the  Courtlander  not  find  out 
in  twenty-four  hours  that  there  was  no  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand  in  Kernsberg,  and  follow  her  trail  ?  And 
lastly  —  question  most  pertinent  of  all — what  had  you 
to  drink  down  there  in  hall,  young  fellow  ? " 

139 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  Sparhawk  did  not  notice  the  last  question,  noi 
did   he  reply  in  a  similarly  jeering  tone. 

"  We  must  persuade  her  —  capture  her,  compel  her, 
if  necessary.  Kernsberg  cannot  for  long  hold  out 
against  both  the  Muscovite  and  the  Courtlander.  Save 
good  Jorian  and  Bo.i?,  who  will  lis  manfully  about  their 
fighting,  there  is  no  help  for  us  in  mortal  man.  So  this 
is  what  we  must  do  to  save  our  lady  !  " 

"  What  ?  Capture  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  and  carry 
her  off?  The  mead  buzzes  in  the  boy's  head.  He 
grows  dotty  with  anxiety  and  too  much  hard  ale. 
'Ware,  Maurice  —  these  battlements  are  not  over  high. 
I  will  relieve  you,  lad  !      Go  to  bed  and  sleep  it  off!  " 

"  Von  Orseln,"  said  the  youth,  with  simple  earnest- 
ness, not  heeding  his  taunts,  "  I  have  thought  deeply. 
I  see  no  way  out  of  it  but  this.  Our  lady  will  eagerly 
go  on  reconnaissance  if  you  represent  it  as  necessary. 
You  must  take  ten  good  men  and  ride  north,  far  north, 
even  to  the  edges  of  the  Baltic,  to  a  place  I  know  of, 
which  none  but  I  and  one  other  can  find.  There,  with 
a  few  trusty  fellows  to  guard  her,  she  will  be  safe  till 
the  push  of  the  times  is  over." 

The  chief  captain  was  silent.  He  had  wholly  dropped 
his  jeering  mood.  "  There  is  nothing  else  that  I  can 
see  for  it,"  the  young  Dane  went  on,  finding  that  Wer- 
ner did  not  speak.  "  Our  Joan  will  never  go  to  Court- 
land  alive.  She  will  not  be  carried  off  on  Prince  Louis's 
saddle-bow,  as  a  Cossack  might  carry  off  a  Circassian 
slave!" 

"  But  how,"  said  Von  Orseln,  meditating,  "  will  you 
prevent  her  absence  being  known  ?  The  passage  of  so 
large  a  party  may  easily  be  traced  and  remembered. 
Though  our  folk  are  true  enough  and  loyal  enough, 
sooner  or  later  what  is  known  in  the  Castle  is  known 

140 


Joan  Stands  within  Her  Danger 

III  the  town,  and  vvliat.  is  known  in  the  town  becomes 
known  to  the  enemy  !  " 

Maurice  von  Lynar  leaned  forward  towards  his  chief 
captain  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  and  nodded.  Then,  after  a  pause 
for  thought,  he  added,  "  That  is  none  so  ill  thought  on 
for  a  beardless  younker !  I  will  think  it  over,  sleep  on 
it,  and  tell  you  my  opinion  to-morrow  !  " 

The  youth  tramped  to  and  fro  on  the  terrace,  mutter- 
ing to  himself. 

"  Good  night,  Sparhawk  !  "  said  Von  Orseln,  from 
the  top  of  the  corkscrew  stair,  as  he  prepared  to  descend  ; 
"  go  to  bed.  I  will  send  Alt  Pikker  to  command  the 
house-guard  to-night.  Do  you  get  straightway  between 
the  sheets  as  soon  as  may  be.  If  this  mad  scheme 
comes  off  you  will  need  your  beauty-sleep  with  a  ven- 
geance !     So  take  it  now  !  " 

"  At  any  rate,"  the  chief  captain  growled  to  himself, 
"  you  have  a  pretty  part  set  for  me.  I  may  forthwith 
order  my  shroud.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  face  my  lady 
again  !  " 


141 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    CHIEF    captain's    TREACHERY 

THE  Duchess  Joan  was  in  high  spirits.  It  had 
been  judged  necessary,  in  consultation  with  her 
chief  officers,  to  ride  a  reconnaissance  to  ascertain 
whether  the  advancing  enemy  had  cut  Kernsberg  off 
towards  the  north.  On  this  matter  Von  Orseln  thought 
that  her  Hio-hness  had  better  judge  for  herself.  Here  at 
last  was  somethino;  to  be  done.  It  was  almost  like  the 
old  foraying  days,  but  now  in  a  more  desperate  cause. 

Ten  days  before,  Joan's  maidens  and  her  aged  nurse 
had  been  sent  for  safety  to  Plassenburg,  under  escort  of 
Captains  Boris  and  Jorian  as  far  as  the  frontier,  who  had, 
however,  returned  in  time  to  accompany  her  party  on 
their  ride  northward. 

No  one  in  all  Castle  Kernsberg  was  to  know  of  the 
departure  of  this  cavalcade.  Shortly  before  midnight 
the  horses  were  to  be  ready  under  the  Castle  wall. 
The  Sparhawk  was  appointed  to  command  during  Von 
Orseln's  absence.  Ten  men  only  were  to  go,  and  these 
picked  and  sifted  riders  —  chosen  because  of  their  powers 
of  silence — and  because,  being  unmarried,  they  had  no 
wives  to  worm  secrets  out  of  them.  Sweethearts  they 
might  have,  but  then,  in  Kernsberg  at  least,  that  is  a 
very  different  thing. 

Fijially,  having  written  to  their  princely  master  in 
Plassenburg,  that  they  were  leaving  on  account   of  the 

742 


The  Chief  Captain's  Treachery 

war — in  which,  as  envoys  extraordinary,  they  did  not 
desire  to  be  mixed  up  —  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian  made 
them  ready  to  accompany  the  reconnaissance.  It  proved 
to  be  a  dark  and  desperate  night  of  storm  and  rain. 
The  stars  were  ever  and  anon  concealed  by  the  thick 
pall  of  cloud  which  the  wind  from  the  south  drove  hurt- 
ling athwart  them.  Joan  herself  was  in  the  highest 
spirits.  She  wore  a  long  blue  cloak,  which  completely 
concealed  the  firmly  knit,  slender  figure,  clad  in  for- 
ester's dress,  from  prying  eyes. 

As  for  Werner  von  Orseln,  that  high  captain  was 
calm  and  grave  as  usual,  but  the  rest  of  the  ten  men 
were  plainly  nervous,  as  they  fingered  their  bridle-reins 
and  avoided  looking  at  each  other  while  they  waited 
ready  to  mount. 

With  a  clatter  of  hoofs  they  were  off,  none  in  the 
Castle  knowing  more  than  that  Werner  the  chief  cap- 
tain rode  out  on  his  occasions.  A  townsman  or  two 
huddled  closer  among  his  blankets  as  the  clatter  and 
jingle  of  the  horses  mingled  with  the  sharp  volleying  of 
the  rain  upon  his  wind-beaten  lattice,  while  the  long 
ivhoo  of  the  wind  sang  of  troublous  times  in  the  twisted 
chimneys  overhead. 

Joan,  as  the  historian  has  already  said,  was  in  high 
spirits. 

"  Werner,"  she  cried,  as  soon  as  they  were  clear  of 
the  town,  ^'  if  we  strike  the  enemy  to-night,  I  declare 
we  will  draw  sword  and  ride  at  them." 

"  If  we  strike  them  to-night,  right  so,  my  lady  !  "  re- 
turned Werner  promptly. 

But  he  had  the  best  of  reasons  for  knowing  that  they 
would  not  strike  any  enemy  that  night.  His  last  spy 
from  the  north  had  arrived  not  half  an  hour  befoie  they 
started,  |iaving  ridden  completely  round  the  enemy's  host, 

H3 


Joan  ot  the  Sword  Hand 

Joan  and  her  chief  captain  rode  on  ahead,  Von  Orseln 
glancing  keenly  about  him,  and  Joan  riding  free  and 
careless,  as  in  old  days  when  she  overpassed  the  hills  to 
drive  a  prey  from  the  lands  of  her  father's  enemies. 

It  was  grey  morning  when  they  came  to  a  goatherd's 
hut  at  the  top  of  the  green  valley.  Already  they  had 
passed  the  bounds  of  Hohenstein  by  half  a  dozen  miles. 
The  goatherd  had  led  his  light-skipping  train  to  the  hills 
for  the  day,  and  the  rude  and  chaotic  remains  of  his 
breakfast  were  still  on  the  table.  Boris  and  Jorian 
cleared  these  away,  and,  with  the  trained  alacrity  of 
seasoned  men-at-arms,  they  placed  before  the  party  a 
breakfast  prepared  with  speed  out  of  what  they  had 
brought  with  them  and  those  things  which  they  had 
found  to  their  hand  by  foraging  in  the  cottage  of  the 
goatherd  —  to  wit,  sliced  neat's-tongue  dried  in  the 
smoke,  bread  of  fine  wheat  which  Jorian  had  carried  all 
the  way  in  a  net  at  his  saddle-bow.  Boris  had  charge 
of  the  wineskins,  and  upon  a  shelf  above  the  door  they 
found  a  great  butter-pot  full  of  freshly  made  curded 
goats'  milk,  very  delicious  both  to  taste  and  smell. 

Of  these  things  they  ate  and  drank  largely,  Joan  and 
Von  Orseln  being  together  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table. 
Boris  and  Jorian  had  to  sit  with  them,  though  much 
against  their  wills,  being  (spite  of  their  sweethearts)  more 
accustomed  to  the  company  of  honest  men-at-arms  than 
to  the  practice  of  dainty  eating  in  ladies'  society. 

Joan  undertook  to  rally  them  upon  their  loves,  for 
whose  fair  fingers,  as  it  has  been  related  in  an  earlier 
chapter,  she  had  given  them  rings. 

« And  how  took  your  Katrin  the  ring,  Boris  ?  "  she 
said,  looking  at  him  past  the  side  of  her  glass.  For 
Jorian  had  bethought  him  to  bring  one  for  the  Duchess, 
Vy^hich  he  cleansed  and  copied  at  the  spring  without.     As 


The  Chief  Captain's  Treachery 

for  the  others,  they  all  drank  out  of  one  wooden  whey 
cog,  as  was  most  fitting. 

"  Why,  she  took  it  rarely,"  said  honest  Boris,  "  and 
swore  to  love  me  more  than  ever  for  it.  We  are  to  be 
married  upon  my  first  return  to  Plassenburg." 

"  Which,  perhaps,  is  the  reason  why  you  are  in  no 
hurry  to  return  thither,  seeing  that  you  stopped  short  at 
the  frontier  last  week  ?  "  said  the  Duchess  shrewdly. 

"  Nay,  my  lady,  that  grieved  me  sore,  for,  indeed,  we 
love  each  other  dearly,  Katrin  and  I,"  persisted  Captain 
Boris,  thinking,  as  was  his  custom,  to  lie  himself  out  of 
it  by  dint  of  the  mere  avoirdupois  of  asseveration. 

"  That  is  the  greater  marvel,"  returned  the  lady,  smil- 
ing upon  him,  "because  when  last  I  spoke  with  you 
concerning  the  matter,  her  name  was  not  Katrin,  but 
Gretchen  !  " 

Boris  was  silent,  as  well  he  might  be,  for  even  as  he 
lied  he  had  had  some  lurking  suspicion  of  this  himself. 
He  felt  that  he  could  hope  to  get  no  further  by  this 
avenue. 

The  lady  turned  to  Jorian,  who,  having  digested  the 
defeat  and  shame  of  Boris,  was  ready  to  be  very  Indig- 
nant at  his  companion  for  having  claimed  his  sweetheart. 

"  And  you.  Captain  Jorian,"  she  said,  "  how  went  it 
with  you  ?     Was  your  ring  well  received  ?  " 

"  Aye,  marry,"  said  that  gallant  captain,  "  better  than 
well.  Much  better !  Never  did  I  see  woman  so  grate- 
ful. Katrin,  whom  this  long,  wire-drawn,  splenetic  fool 
hath  lyingly  claimed  as  his  (by  some  trick  of  tongue 
born  of  his  carrying  the  malmsey  at  his  saddle-bow)  — 
Katrin,  I  say,  did  kiss  and  clip  me  so  that  my  very  soul 
fainted  within  me.  She  could  not  make  enough  of  the 
giver  of  such  a  precious  thing  as  your  Highness's 
ring  ?  " 

10  145 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Jorian  in  his  own  estimation  was  doing  very  well. 
He  thought  he  could  yet  better  it. 

"  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy.  Her  hands  twitched  — 
she  could  not  keep  them  from  turning  the  pretty  jewel 
about  upon  her  finger.  She  swore  never  to  part  with  it 
while  life  lasted — " 

"  Then,"  said  Joan,  smiling,  "  have  no  more  to  do 
with  her.  She  is  a  false  wench  and  mansworn.  For 
do  not  I  see  it  upon  the  little  finger  of  your  left  hand  at 
this  moment  ?  Nay,  do  not  turn  the  stone  within.  I 
know  my  gift,  and  will  own  it  even  if  your  Katrin  (was 
it  not  ?  )  hath  despised  it.  What  say  you  now  to  that, 
Jorian  ?  " 

"  My  lady,"  faltered  Jorian,  striving  manfully  to  re- 
cover himself,  "  when  I  came  again  in  the  honourable 
guise  of  an  ambassador  to  Kernsberg,  Katrin  gave  it 
back  again  to  me,  saying,  "  You  have  no  signet  ring. 
Take  this,  so  that  you  be  not  ashamed  among  those 
others.  Keep  it  for  me.  I  myself  will  place  it  on  your 
finger  with  a  loving  kiss." 

"  Well  done.  Captain  Jorian,  you  are  a  better  liar 
than  your  friend.  But  still  your  excuses  should  accord 
better.  The  ring  I  gave  you  is  not  a  signet  ring. 
That  Katrin  of  yours  must  have  been  ignorant  indeed." 

With  these  words  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  rose  to 
her  feet,  for  the  ex-men-at-arms  had  not  so  much  as  a 
word  to  say. 

"  Let  us  now  mount  and  ride  homeward,"  she  said  ; 
"  there  are  no  enemy  to  be  found  on  this  northerly  road. 
We  shall  be  more  fortunate  upon  another  occasion." 

Then  Werner  von  Orseln  nerved  himself  for  a  battle 
more  serious  than  any  he  had  ever  fought  at  the  elbow 
of  Henry  the  Lion  of  Hohenstein. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  standing  up  and  bowing  gravely 


The  Chief  Captain's  Treach 


erv 


before  her,  "you  sec  here  eleven  men  who  love  you  far 
above  their  lives,  of  whom  I  am  the  chief.  Two  others 
also  there  are,  who,  though  not  of  our  nation,  are  in 
heart  joined  to  us,  especially  in  this  thing  that  we  have 
done.  With  all  respect,  your  Highness  cannot  go  back. 
We  have  come  out,  not  to  make  a  reconnaissance,  but 
to  put  your  Grace  in  a  place  of  safety  till  the  storm  blows 


over." 


The  Duchess  had  slowly  risen  to  her  feet,  with  her 
hand  on  the  sword  which  swung  at  her  belt. 

"  You  have  suddenly  gone  mad,  Werner  !"  she  said  ; 
"  let  us  have  no  more  of  this.  I  bid  you  mount  and 
ride.  Back  to  Kernsberg,  I  say !  Ye  are  not  such 
fools  and  traitors  as  to  deliver  the  maiden  Castle,  the 
Eagle's  Nest  of  Hohenstein,  into  the  hands  of  our 
enemies  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Von  Orseln,  looking  steadily  upon  the 
ground,  "that  will  we  not  do.  Kernsberg  is  in  good 
hands,  and  will  fight  bravely.  But  we  cannot  hold  out 
with  our  few  folk  and  scanty  provender  against  the 
leaguer  of  thirty  thousand.  Nevertheless  we  will  not 
permit  you  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  our  sakes  or  for  the 
sake  of  the  women  and  children  of  the  city." 

Joan  drew  her  sword. 

"  Werner  von  Orseln,  will  you  obey  me,  or  must  I 
slay  you  with  my  hand  ?  "   she  cried. 

The  chief  captain  yet  further  bowed  his  head  and 
abased   his  eyes. 

"  We  have  thought  also  of  this,"  he  made  answer. 
"  Me  you  may  kill,  but  these  that  are  with  me  will  de- 
fend themselves,  though  they  will  not  strike  one  they 
love  more  than  their  lives.  But  man  by  man  we  have 
sworn  to  do  this  thing.  At  all  hazards  you  must  abide 
in  our  hands  till  the  danger  is  overpast.      For  me  (this 

147 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

he  added  in  a  deeper  tone),  I  am  your  immediate  officer. 
There  is  none  to  come  between  us.  It  is  your  right  to 
slay  me  if  you  will.  Mine  is  the  responsibility  for  this 
deed,  though  the  design  was  not  mine.  Here  is  my 
sword.  Slay  your  chief  captain  with  it  if  you  will.  He 
has  faithfully  served  your  house  for  five-and-thirty  years. 
'T  is  perhaps  time  he  rested  now." 

And  with  these  words  Werner  von  Orseln  took  his 
sword  by  the  point  and  offered  the  hilt  to  his  mistress. 

Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  shook  with  mingled  passion 
and  helplessness,  and  her  eyes  were  dark  and  troubled. 

"  Put  up  your  blade,"  she  said,  striking  the  hilt  with 
her  hand  ;  "  if  you  have  not  deserved  death,  no  more 
have  I  deserved  this  !  But  you  said  that  the  design  was 
not  yours.  Who,  then,  has  dared  to  plot  against  the 
liberty  of  Joan  of  Hohenstein  ?  " 

"  I  would  I  could  claim  the  honour,"  said  Werner 
the  chief  captain  ;  "  but  truly  the  matter  came  from 
Maurice  von  Lynar,  the  Dane.  It  is  to  his  mother,  who 
after  the  death  of  the  Count  von  Lynar  continued  to 
dwell  in  a  secret  strength  on  the  Baltic  shore,  that  we 
are  conducting  your  Grace  !  " 

"  Maurice  von  Lynar  ?  "  exclaimed  Joan,  astonished. 
"  He  remains  in  Castle  Kernsberg,  then  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Werner,  relieved  by  her  tone,  "  he  will 
take  your  place  when  danger  comes.  In  morning  twi- 
light or  at  dusk  he  makes  none  so  ill  a  Lady  Duchess,  and, 
i'  faith,  his  sword  hand  is  brisk  enough.  If  the  town 
be  taken,  better  that  he  than  you  be  found  in  Castle 
Kernsberg.      Is  the  thing  not  well  invented,  my  lady  ?  " 

Werner  looked  up  hopefully.  He  thought  he  had 
pleaded   his  cause   well. 

"  Traitor  !  supplanter  !  "  cried  Joan  indignantly  ; 
"  this   Dane  in   my  place  !      I   will   hang  him  from  the 

14S 


The  Chief  Captain's  Treachery 

highest  window  in  the  Castle  of  Kernsberg,  if  ever  I  win 
back  to  nunc  own  again  !  " 

"  My  lady,"  said  Werner,  gently  and  respectfully, 
"  your  servant  Von  Lynar  bade  me  tell  you  that  he 
would  as  faithfully  and  loyally  take  your  place  now  as 
he  did  on  a  former  occasion  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Joan,  smiling  wanly  with  a  quick  change 
of  mood,  "  I  hope  he  will  be  more  ready  to  give  up  his 
privileges  on  this  occasion  than  on  that !  " 

She  was  thinking  of  the  Princess  Margaret  and  the 
heritage  of  trouble  upon  which,  as  the  Count  von  Loen, 
she  had  caused  the  Sparhawk  to  enter. 

Then  a  new  thought  seemed  to  strike  her. 

"  But  my  nurse  and  my  women  —  how  can  he  keep 
the  imposture  secret  ?  He  may  pass  before  the  stupid 
eyes  of  men.      But  they — " 

"  If  your  Highness  will  recollect,  they  have  been 
sent  out  of  harm's  way  into  Plassenburg.  There  is 
not  a  woman  born  of  woman  in  all  the  Castle  of  Kerns- 
berg !  " 

"  Yes,"  mused  Joan,  "  I  have  indeed  been  fairly 
cozened.  I  gave  that  order  also  by  the  Dane's  advice. 
Well,  let  him  have  his  run.  We  will  reeve  him  a  firm 
collar  of  hemp  at  the  end  of  it,  and  maybe  for  Werner 
von  Orseln  also,  as  a  traitor  alike  to  his  bread  and  his 
mistress.  Till  then  I  hope  you  will  both  enjoy  playing 
your  parts." 

The  chief  captain  bowed. 

"  I  am  content,  my  lady,"  he  said  respectfully. 

"  Now,  good  jailers  all,"  cried  Joan,  "  lead  on.  I 
will  follow.  Or  would  you  prefer  to  carry  me  with  you 
handcuffed  and  chained  ?  I  will  go  with  you  in  what 
fashion   seemeth  good   to  my   masters  !  " 

She  paused  and  looked  round  the  little  goatherd's  hut. 

149 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Only,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head,  "  I  warn  you  I 
will  take  my  own  time  and  manner  of  coming  back  !  " 

There  was  a  deep  silence  as  the  men  drew  their  belts 
tighter  and  prepared  to  mount  and  depart. 

"  About  that  time,  Jorian,"  whispered  Boris  as  they 
went  out,  '■'•  you  and  I  will  be  better  in  Plassenburg  than 
within  the  bounds  of  Kernsberg  —  for  our  health's  sake 
and  our  sweethearts',  that  is  !  " 

"Good!  "  said  Jorian,  dropping  the  bars  of  his  visor; 
"  but  she  is  a  glorious  wench,  and  looks  her  bravest 
when   she  is  angry  !  " 


15*^ 


CHAPTER   XXI 


ISLE    RUGEN 


THEY  had  travelled  for  six  hours  through  high 
arched  pines,  their  fallen  needles  making  a  car- 
pet green  and  springy  underfoot.  Then  succeeded  oaks, 
stricken  a  little  at  top  with  the  frosts  of  years.  Alternating 
with  these  were  marshy  tracts  where  alder  and  white 
birch  gleamed  from  the  banks  of  shallow  runnels  and 
the  margins  of  black,  peaty  lakes.  Anon  the  broom 
and  the  gorse  began  to  wave  sparsely  above  wide  sand- 
hills, heaved  this  way  and  that  like  the  waves  of  a 
mountainous  sea. 

The  party  was  approaching  that  no-man's-land  which 
stretches  for  upwards  of  a  hundred  miles  along  the 
southern  shores  of  the  Baltic.  It  was  a  land  of  vast 
brackish  backwaters  connected  with  the  outer  sea  by 
devious  channels  often  half  silted  up,  but  still  feeling 
the  pulse  of  the  outer  green  water  in  the  winds  which 
blew  over  the  sandy  "  bills,"  bars,  and  spits,  and  which 
brought  with  them  sweet  scents  of  heather  and  wild 
thyme,  and,  most  of  all,  of  the  southernwood  which 
grew  wild  on   the  scantily  pastured  braes. 

It  was  a  beautiful  but  lonely  country  —  the  'batablc 
land  of  half  a  dozen  princedoms,  its  only  inhabitant  a 
stray  hunter  setting  up  his  gipsy  booth  of  wattled  boughs, 
heaping  with  stones  a  rude  fireplace,  or  fixing  a  tripod 
over'  it  whereon  a  pottinger  was  presently  aswing,  in 
Some  sunny  curve  of  the  shore. 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

At  eventide  of  the  third  day  of  their  journeying  the 
party  came  to  a  great  morass.  Black  decaying  trunks 
of  trees  stood  up  at  various  angles,  often  bristling  with 
dead  branches  like  chevaux-de-frise.  The  horses  picked 
their  path  warily  through  this  tangle,  the  rotten  sticks 
yielding  as  readily  as  wet  mud  beneath  their  hoofs. 
Finally  all  dismounted  except  Joan,  while  Werner  von 
Orseln,  with  a  rough  map  in  his  hand,  traced  out  the 
way.  Pools  of  stagnant  black  water  had  to  be  evaded, 
treacherous  yellow  sands  tested,  bridges  constructed  of 
the  firmer  logs,  till  all  suddenly  they  came  out  upon  a 
fairylike  little  half-moon  of  sand  and  tiny  shells. 

Here  was  a  large  flat-bottomed  boat,  drawn  up  against 
the  shore.  In  the  stern  a  strange  figure  was  seated,  a 
man,  tall  and  angular,  clad  in  jarkin  and  trunks  ©f  brown 
tanned  leather,  cross-gartered  hose  of  grey  cloth,  and 
home-made  shoon  of  hide  with  the  hair  outside.  He 
wore  a  black  skull  cap,  and  his  head  had  the  strange  un- 
canny look  of  a  wild  animal.  It  was  not  at  the  first 
glance  nor  yet  at  the  second  that  Boris  and  Jorian  found 
out  the  cause  of  this  curious  appearance. 

Meanwhile,  Werner  von  Orseln  was  putting  into  his 
hand  some  pledge  or  sign  which  he  scrutinised  carefully, 
when  Jorian  gripped  his  companion's  arm. 

"  Look,"  he  whispered,  "  he  's  got  no  ears  !" 

"  Nor  any  tongue  !  "  responded  Boris,  staring  with  all 
his  eyes  at  the  prodigy. 

And,  indeed,  the  strange  man  was  pointing  to  his 
mouth  with  the  index  finger  of  his  right  hand  and  sign- 
ing that  they  were  to  follow  him  into  the  boat  which  had 
been  waiting  for  them. 

Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  had  never  spoken  since  she 
knew  that  her  men  were  taking  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 
Nor  did   her   face   show  any  trace  of  emotion  now  that 

152 


Isle  Rugen 


Werner  von   Orseln,  approaching  cap  in  hand,  humbly 
begged  her  to  permit  him  to  conduct  her  to  the  boat. 

But  the  Duchess  leapt  from  her  horse  and  without 
accepting  his  hand  she  stepped  from  the  little  pier  of 
stone  beside  which  the  boat  lay,  and  walking  firmly 
from  scat  to  seat  she  reached  the  stern,  where  she  sat 
down  without  seeming  to  have  so  much  as  glanced  at 
any  of  the  company. 

Werner  von  Orseln  then  motioned  Captains  Boris 
and  Jorian  to  take  their  places  in  the  bow,  and  having 
bared  his  head  he  seated  himself  beside  his  mistress. 
The  wordless,  earless  man  took  the  oars  and  pushed 
off.  The  boat  slid  over  a  little  belt  of  still  water  through 
a  wilderness  of  tall  reeds.  Then  suddenly  the  wavelets 
lapped  clean  beneath  her  bottom,  and  the  wide  levels  of 
a  lake  opened  out  before  them.  The  ten  men  left  on 
the  shore  set  about  building  a  fire  and  making  shelters  of 
brushwood,  as  if  they  expected  to  stay  there  some  time. 

The  tiny  harbour  was  fenced  in  on  every  side  with  an 
unbroken  wall  of  lofty  green  pines.  The  lower  part  of 
their  trunks  shot  up  tall  and  straight  and  opened  long 
vistas  into  the  black  depths  of  the  forest.  The  sun  waa 
setting  and  threw  slant  rays  far  underneath,  touching 
with  gold  the  rank,  marish  growths,  and  reddening  th« 
mouldering  boles  of  the  fallen  pines. 

The  boat  passed  almost  noiselessly  along,  the  strange 
man  rowing  strongly  and  the  boat  drawing  steadily  awa) 
across  the  widest  part  of  the  still  inland  sea.  As  the) 
thus  coasted  along  the  gloomy  shores  the  sun  wen( 
down  and  darkness  came  upon  them  at  a  bound.  Thei? 
at  the  far  end  of  the  long  tunnel,  which  an  hour  agon« 
had  been  sunny  glades,  they  saw  strange  flickering  lights 
dancing  and  vanishing,  waving  and  leaping  upward  — 
will-o'-the-wisps    kindled    doubtless    from    the  stagnant 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

boglands  and  the  rotting  vegetation  of  that  ancient 
northern   forest. 

The  breeze  freshened.  The  water  clappered  louder 
under  the  boat's  quarter.  Breaths  born  of  the  wide  sea 
unfiltered  through  forest  dankness  visited  more  keenly 
the  nostrils  of  the  vovagers.  They  heard  ahead  of  them 
the  distant  roar  of  breakers.  Now  and  then  there  came 
a  long  and  gradual  roll  underneath  their  quarter,  quite 
distinct  from  the  little  chopping  waves  of  the  freshwater 
ha£j\  as  the  surface  of  the  mere  heaved  itself  in  a  great 
slope  of  water  in  which  the  boat  swung  sideways. 

After  a  space  tall  trees  again  shot  up  overhead,  and 
with  a  quick  turn  the  boat  passed  between  walls  of 
trembling  reeds  that  rustled  against  the  oars  like  silk, 
emerged  on  a  black  circle  of  water,  and  then,  gliding 
smoothly   forward,  took  ground   in  the  blank  dark. 

As  the  broad  keel  grated  on  the  sand,  the  Wordless 
Man  leapt  out,  and,  standing  on  the  shore,  put  his  hands 
to  his  mouth  and  emitted  a  long  shout  like  a  blast  blown 
on  a  conch  shell.  Again  and  again  that  melancholy 
ululation,  with  never  a  consonantal  sound  to  break  it, 
went  forth  into  the  night.  Yet  it  was  so  modulated  that 
it  had  obviously  a  meaning  for  someone,  and  to  put  the 
matter  beyond  a  doubt  it  was  answered  by  three  shrill 
whistles  from  behind  the   rampart  of  trees. 

Joan  sat  still  in  the  boat  where  she  had  placed  herself. 
She  had  asked  no  question,  and  even  these  strange  ex- 
periences did   not  alter  her  resolution. 

Presently  a  light  gleamed  uncertainly  through  the 
trees,  now  lost  behind  brushwood  and  again  breaking 
out. 

A  tall  figure  moved  forward  with  a  step  quick  and 
firm.  It  was  that  of  a  woman  who  carried  a  swinging 
lantern  in  her  hand,  from  which  wheeling  lights  gleamed 

154 


Isle  Rugen 


through  a  score  of  variously  coloured  little  plates  of  horn. 
She  wore  about  her  shoulders  a  great  crimson  cloak 
which  masked  her  shape.  A  hood  of  the  same  material, 
attached  at  the  back  of  the  neck  to  the  cloak,  concealed 
her  head  and  dropped  about  her  face,  partially  hiding 
her  features. 

Standing  still  on  a  little  wooden  pier  she  held  the  lan- 
tern high,  so  that  the  light  fell  on  those  in  the  boat,  and 
their  faces  looked  strangely  white  in  that  illumined  circle, 
surrounded  as  it  was  by  a  pent-house  of  tense  blackness, 
black  pines,  black  water,  black  sky. 

"  P'oUow  me ! "  said  the  woman,  in  a  deep,  rich  voice 
—  a  voice  whose  tones  thrilled  those  who  heard  them  to 
their  hearts,  so  rich  and  low  were  some  of  the  notes. 

Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  am  the  Duchess  of  Hohenstein,  and  I  do  not  leave 
this  boat  till  I  know  in  what  place  I  am,  and  who  this 
may  be  that  cries  '-  Follow  1  '  to  the  daughter  of  Henry 
the  Lion!" 

The  tall  woman  turned  without  bowing  and  looked 
at  the  girl. 

"  I  am  the  mother  of  Maurice  von  Lynar,  and  this  is 
the  Isle  Rugen  !  "  she  said  simply,  as  if  the  answer 
were  all-sufficient. 


155 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE    HOUSE    ON    THE    DUNES 

THE  woman  in  the  crimson  cloak  waited  for  Joan 
to  be  assisted  from  the  boat,  and  then,  without  a 
word  of  greeting,  led  the  way  up  a  little  sanded  path  to 
a  gate  which  opened  in  a  high  stone  wall.  Through 
this  she  admitted  her  guests,  whereupon  they  found 
themselves  in  an  enclosure  with  towers  and  battlements 
rising  dimly  all  round.  It  was  planted  with  fragrant 
bushes  and  fruit  trees  whose  leaves  brushed  pleasantly 
against  their  faces  as  they  walked  in  single  file  following 
their  guide. 

Then  came  a  long,  grey  building,  another  door,  low 
and  creaking  heavily  on  unaccustomed  hinges,  a  sudden 
burst  of  light,  and  lo !  the  wanderers  found  themselves 
within  a  lighted  hall,  wherein  were  many  stands  of  arms 
and  armour,  mingled  with  skins  of  wild  animals,  wide- 
spreading,  many-tined  antlers,  and  other  records  of  the 
chase. 

The  woman  who  had  been  their  guide  now  set  dowp 
her  lantern  and  allowed  the  hood  of  her  cloak  to  slide 
from  her  head.  Werner  and  his  two  male  companions, 
the  captains  of  Plassenburg,  fell  back  a  little  at  the  ap- 
parition. They  had  expected  to  see  some  hag  or  crone, 
fit  companion  of  their  wordless  guide. 

Instead,  a  woman  stood  before  them,  not  girlish  cer- 
tainly,   nor   vet    in   the   first   bloom    of  her  youth,   but 

»56 


The  House  on  the  Dunes 

glorious  even  among  fair  women  by  reason  of  the  ripe^ 
ness  of  her  beauty.  Her  hair  shone  full  auburn  with 
shadows  of  heavy  burnt-gold  upon  its  coils.  It  clustered 
about  a  broad,  low  brow  m  a  few  simple  locks,  then, 
sweeping  back  round  her  head  in  loose  natural  waves,  it 
was  caught  in  a  broad  flat  coil  at  the  back,  giving  a  cer- 
tain statuesque  and  classic  dignity  to  her  head. 

The  mother  of  that  young  paladin,  their  Sparhawk  ? 
It  seemed  impossible.  This  woman  was  too  youthful, 
too  fair,  too  bountiful  in  her  gracious  beauty  to  be  the 
mother  of  such  a  tense  young  yew-bow  as  Maurice  von 
Lynar. 

Yet  she  had  said  it,  and  women  do  not  lie  (affirma- 
tively) about  such  a  matter.  So,  indeed,  at  heart 
thought  Werner  von   Orseln. 

"  My  lady  Joan,"  she  said,  in  the  same  thrilling  voice, 
"  my  son  has  sent  me  word  that  till  a  certain  great 
danger  is  overpast  you  are  to  abide  with  me  here  on  the 
Isle  Rugen.  I  live  alone,  save  for  this  one  man,  dumb 
Max  Ulrich,  long  since  cruelly  maimed  at  the  hands  of 
his  enemies.  I  can  oft'er  you  no  suite  of  attendants  be- 
yond those  you  bring  with  you.  Our  safety  depends  on 
the  secrecy  of  our  abode,  as  for  many  years  my  own  life 
has  done.  I  ask  you,  therefore,  to  respect  our  privacy, 
as  also  to  impose  the  same  upon  your  soldiers." 

The  Duchess  loan  bowed  slightlv. 

"  As  you  doubtless  know,  I  have  not  come  hither  of 
my  own  free  will,"  she  answered  haughtily ;  "  but  I 
thank  you,  madam,  for  your  hospitality.  Rest  assured 
that  the  secrecy  of  your  dwelling  shall  not  be  endangered 
by  me  !  " 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  with  that  unyielding 
"  at-arm's-length  "  eyeshot  which  signifies  instinctive 
antipathy  between  women  of  strong  wills. 

157 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Then  with  a  large  gesture  the  elder  indicated  the  way 
up  the  broad  staircase,  and  throwing  her  own  cloak 
completely  off  she  caught  it  across  her  arm  as  it  dropped, 
and  so  followed  Joan  out  of  sight. 

Werner  von  Orseln  stood  looking  after  them  a  little 
bewildered.      But  Boris  and  Jorian  exchanged  significant  - 
5J-lances  with  each  other. 

Then  Boris  shook  his  head  at  Jorian,  and  Jonan 
shook  his  head  at  Boris.  And  for  once  they  did  not 
designate  the  outlook  by  their  favourite  adjective. 

Nevertheless,  instinct  was  so  strong  that,  as  soon  as 
the  women  had  withdrawn  themselves  upstairs,  the  thre^ 
captains  started  towards  the  door  to  make  the  round  of 
the  defences.  The  Wordless  Man  accompanied  them 
unasked.  The  square  enclosure  in  which  they  found 
themselves  seemed  liker  an  old  fortified  farmhouse  or 
grange  than  a  regular  castle,  though  the  walls  were  thick 
as  those  of  any  fortress,  being  loopholed  for  musketry, 
and  (in  those  days  of  bombards  few  and  heavy)  capable 
of  standing  a  siege  in  good  earnest  against  a  small  army. 

The  doors  were  of  thick  oak  crossed  in  all  directions 
vc.th  strengthening  iron.  The  three  captains  examined 
every  barred  window  with  keen  professional  curiosity, 
and,  coming  to  another  staircase  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
house,  Von  Orseln  intimated  to  the  dumb  man  that  they 
wished  to  examine  it.  In  rapid  pantomime  he  indicated 
to  th^m  that  there  was  an  ascending  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing round  and  round  a  tower  till  a  platform  was  reached, 
from  which  (gazing  out  under  his  hand  and  making 
with  his  finger  the  shape  of  battlements)  he  gave  them 
to  i^nderstand  that  an  extensive  prospect  was  to  be 
enjoyed. 

With  an  inward  resolve  to  ascend  that  stair  and  look 


The  House  on  the  Dunes 

upon  that  prospect  at  an  early  hour  on  the  morrow  the 
three  captains  returned  through  the  hall  into  a  long 
dining-room  vaulted  above  with  beams  of  solid  oak. 
Curtains  were  drawn  close  all  about  the  walls.  In  the 
recesses  were  many  stands  of  arms  of  good  and  recent 
construction,  and  opening  a  cupboard  with  the  freedom 
of  a  man-at-arms,  Boris  saw  ramrods,  powder,  and 
shot  arranged  in  order,  as  neatly  as  though  he  had  done 
it  himself,  than  which  no  better  could  be  said. 

In  a  little  while  the  sound  of  footsteps  descending 
the  nearer  staircase  was  heard.  The  Wordless  Man 
moved  to  the  door  and  held  it  open  as  Joan  came  in 
with  a  proud,  high  look  on  her  face.  She  was  still  pale, 
partly  with  travel  and  partly  from  the  indignant  angers 
of  her  heart.  Von  Lynar's  mother  entered  immediately 
after  her  guest,  and  it  needed  nothing  more  subtle  than 
Werner  von  Orseln's  masculine  acumen  to  discern  that 
no  word  had  been  spoken  between  them  while  they  were 
alone. 

With  a  queenly  gesture  the  host  motioned  her  guest 
to  the  place  of  honour,  and  indicated  that  the  three 
soldiers  were  to  take  their  places  at  the  other  side  of  the 
table.  Werner  von  Orseln  moved  automatically  to 
obey,  but-  Jorlan  and  Boris  were  already  at  the  side- 
board, dusting  platters  and  making  them  ready  to  serve 
the  meal. 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  Jorian.  "  Were  we 
here  as  envoys  of  our  master.  Prince  Hugo  of  Plassen- 
burg,  we  would  gladly  and  proudly  sit  at  meat  with  you. 
But  we  are  volunteers,  and  have  all  our  lives  been  men- 
at-arms.  We  will  therefore  assist  this  good  gentleman 
to  serve,  an  it  please  you  to  permit  us  !  " 

The  lady  bowed  slightly  and  for  the  first  time  smiled. 

"  You    have,   then,   accompanied    the   Lady   Du-'hess 

^59 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

hither  for  pleasure,  gentlemen  ?  I  fear  Isle  Rugen  is  a 
poor  place  for  that  !  "   she  said,  looking  across  at  them. 

"  Ay  and  no  !  "  said  Jorian  ;  "•  Kernsberg  is,  indeed, 
no  fit  dwelling-place  for  great  ladies  just  now.  The 
Duchess  Joan  will  be  safer  here  than  elsewhere  till  the 
Muscovites  have  gone  home,  and  the  hill-folk  of  Hohen- 
stein  have  only  the  Courtlanders  to  deal  with.  All  the 
same,  we  coold  have  wished  to  have  been  permitted  to 
speak  with  the  Muscovite  in  the  gate  I  " 

"  My  son  remains  in  Castle  Kernsberg  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  an  upward  inflection,  an  indescribable  softness  at 
the  same  time  overspreading  her  face,  and  a  warmth 
coming  into  her  grey  eyes  which  showed  what  this 
woman   might  be  to  those  whom  she  really  loved. 

"He  keeps  the  Castle,  indeed  —  in  his  mistress's 
absence  and  mine,"  said  Werner.  "  He  will  make  a 
good  soldier.  Our  lady  has  already  made  him  Count 
von  Loen,  that  he  may  be  the  equal  of  those  who  care 
for  such  titles." 

A  strange  flash  as  of  remembrance  and  emotion  passed 
over  the  face  of  their  hostess. 

"  And  your  own  title,  my  lord  ?  "  she  asked  after  a 
little  pause. 

"  I  am  plain  Werner  von  Orseln,  free  ritter  and 
faithful  servant  of  my  mistress  the  Duchess  Joan,  as  I 
was  also  of  her  father,  Henry  the  Lion  of  Hohenstein  !  " 

He  bowed  as  he  spoke  and  continued,  "  I  do  not 
love  titles,  and,  indeed,  they  would  be  wasted  on  an 
ancient  grizzle-pate  like  me.  But  your  son  is  young, 
and  deserves  this  fortune,  madam,  and  will  doubtless  do 
great  honour  to  my  lady's  fav^our." 

The  eyes  of  the  elder  lady  turned  Inquiringly  to 
those  of  Joan. 

"  I    have   now  no    faithful   servants,"  said  the  young 

1 60 


The  House  on  the  Dunes 

Duchess    at    last,    breaking   her  cold   silence j  "I  have 
only  traitors  and  jailers  about  me." 

With  that  she  became  once  more  silent.  A  painful 
restraint  fell  upon  the  three  who  sat  at  table,  and  though 
their  hostess  and  Werner  von  Orseln  partook  of  the 
fish  and  brawn  and  fruit  which  their  three  servitors  set 
before  them  in  silver  platters,  it  was  but  sparingly  and 
without  appetite. 

All  were  glad  when  the  meal  was  over  and  they  could 
rise  from  the  table.  As  soon  as  possible  Boris  and 
Jorian  got  outside  into  the  long  passage  which  led  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  Boris,  "  I  declare  I  would  have  burst 
if  I  had  stayed  in  there  another  quarter  hour!  It  was 
solemn  as  serving  Karl  the  Great  and  his  longbeards  in 
their  cellar  under  the  Hartz.  I  wonder  if  they  are 
going  to  keep  it  up  all  the  time  after  this  fashion  !  " 

"  And  this  is  pleasure,"  rejoined  Jorian  gloomily  j 
"  not  even  a  good  rousing  fight  on  the  way.  And  then, 
—  why,  prayers  for  the  dead  are  cheerful  as  dance- 
gardens  in  July  to  that  festal  board.  Good  Lord  I  give 
me  the  Lady  Ysolinde  and  the  gnomes  we  fought  so  long 
ago  at  Erdberg.  This  sword-handed  Joan  of  theirs 
freezes  a  man's  internals  like  Baltic   Ice." 

"Jorian,"  said  Boris,  solemnly  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  "  if  that  Courtland  fellow  had  known  what  we 
know,  he  would  have  been  none  so  eager  to  get  her 
home  to  bed  and  board  I  " 

"  Ice  will  melt  —  even  Baltic  ice  !  "  said  Jorian  sen- 
tentlously. 

"  Yes,  but  greybeard  Louis  of  Courtland  is  not  the 
man  to  do  the  melting  !  "  retorted  Boris. 

"  But  I  know  who  could  !  "   said  Jorian,  nodding  his 
head  with  an  air  of  immense  sagacity. 
n  i6i 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Boris  went  on  cutting  brawn  upon  a  wooden  platter 
with  a  swift  and  careful  hand.  The  old  servitor  moved 
noiselessly  about  behind  them,  with  feet  that  made  no 
more  noise  than  those  of  a  cat  walking  on  velvet. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Boris,  shortly. 

The  door  of  the  kitchen  opened  slightly  and  the  tall 
woman  stood  a  moment  with  the  latch  in  her  hand, 
ready  to  enter. 

"  Our  Sparhawk  could  melt  the  Baltic  ice  I  "  said 
Jorian,  and  winked  at  Boris  with  his  left  eye  in  a  sly 
manner. 

Whereupon  Boris  dropped  his  knife  and,  seizing 
Jorian  by  the  shoulders,  he  thrust  him  down  upon  a 
broad   stool. 

Then  he  dragged  the  platter  of  brawn  before  him  and 
dumped  the  mustard  pot  beside  it  upon  the  deal  table 
with  a  resounding  clap. 

"  There  !  "  he  cried,  "  fill  your  silly  mouth  with  that, 
Fatsides  !  'T  is  all  you  are  good  for.  I  have  stood  a 
deal  of  fine  larded  ignorance  from  you  in  my  time, 
but  nothing  like  this.  You  will  be  saying  next  that  my 
Lady  Duchess  might  take  a  fancy  to  you  I  " 

"She  might  do  worse  !"  said  Jorian  philosophically, 
as  he  stirred  the  mustard  with  his  knife  and  looked  about 
for  the  ale  tankard. 


162 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE    FACE    THAT    LOOKED    INTO    JOAN's 

THE  chamber  to  which  the  Duchess  Joan  was  con- 
ducted by  her  hostess  had  evidently  been  care- 
fully prepared  for  her  reception.  It  was  a  large,  low 
room,  with  a  vaulted  roof  of  carven  wood.  The  work 
^as  of  great  merit  and  evidently  old.  The  devices 
upon  it  were  mostly  coats-of-arms,  which  originally  had 
been  gilded  and  painted  in  heraldic  colours,  but  neglect 
through  long  generations  had  tarnished  the  gold  leaf  and 
caused  the  colours  to  peel  off  in  places.  Here  and  there, 
however,  were  shields  of  more  recent  design,  but  in 
every  case  the  motto  and  scutcheon  of  these  had  been 
defaced.  At  both  ends  of  the  room  were  windows, 
through  whose  stained  glass  Joan  looked  without  result 
into  blank  darkness.  Then  she  opened  a  little  square 
of  panes  just  large  enough  to  put  her  head  through  and 
saw  a  walk  of  lofty  poplars  silhouetted  against  the  skv, 
dark  towers  of  leaves  all  a-rustle  and  a-shiver  from  the 
zenith  to  the  ground,  as  the  moaning  and  sobbing  wind 
drew  inward  and  whispered  to  them  of  the  coming 
storm. 

Then  Joan  shut  the  window  and  looked  about  her. 
A  table  with  a  little  p7-le-Dieu  stood  in  the  corner, 
screened  by  a  curtain  which  ran  on  a  brazen  rod.  A 
Roman    Breviary   lav  on   a    velvet-covered    table   before 

163 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

the  crucifix.  Joan  lifted  it  up  and  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
words  :  ^^  By  a  luoman  he  overcame.  By  a  woman  he  was 
overcome.  A  woman  was  once  his  weapon.  A  woman  is 
now  become  the  instrument  of  his  defeat.  He  findeth  that 
the  weak  vessel  cannot  be  broken." 

"Nor  shall  it!  "  said  Joan,  looking  at  the  cross  be- 
fore her ;  "  by  the  strength  of  Mary  the  Mother,  the 
weak  vessel  shall  not  be  broken  !  " 

She  turned  her  about  and  examined  with  interest  the 
rest  of  the  room  which  for  many  days  was  to  be  her 
own.  The  bed  was  low  and  wide,  with  sheets  of  fine 
linen  folded  back,  and  over  all  a  richly  embroidered 
coverlet.  At  the  further  end  of  the  chamber  was  a  fire- 
place, with  a  projecting  hood  of  enamelled  brick,  look- 
ing fresh  and  new  amid  so  much  that  was  centuries  old. 
Oaken  panels  covered  the  walls,  opening  mostly  into 
deep  cupboards.  The  girl  tried  one  or  two  of  these. 
They  proved  to  be  unlocked  and  were  filled  with  ancient 
parchments,  giving  forth  a  faintly  aromatic  smell,  but 
without  a  particle  of  dust  upon  their  leaves.  The  clean- 
liness of  everything  within  the  chamber  had  been  scrup- 
ulously attended  to. 

For  a  full  hour  Joan  walked  the  chamber  with  her 
hands  clasped  behind  her  back,  thinking  how  she  was  to 
return  to  her  well-beloved  Kernsberg.  Her  pride  was 
slowly  abating,  and  with  it  her  anger  against  those  faithful 
servants  who  had  risked  her  favour  to  convey  her  beyond 
the  reach  of  danger.  But  none  the  less  she  was  resolved 
to  go  back.  This  conflict  must  not  take  place  without 
her.  If  Kernsberg  were  captured,  and  Maurice  von 
Lynar  found  personating  his  mistress,  he  would  surely 
be  put  to  death.  If  he  fell  into  Muscovite  hands  that 
death  would  be  by  torture. 

At  all  hazards  she  would  return.     And  to  this  problem 

164 


The  Face  that  Looked  into  Joan's 

she  turned  her  thoughts,  knitting  her  brows  and  working 
her  fingers  nervously  through  each  other. 

She  had  it.  There  was  a  way.  She  would  wait  till 
the  morrow  and  in  the  meantime  sleep. 

As  she  stooped  to  blow  out  the  last  candle,  a  motto 
on  the  stem  caught  her  eye.  It  ran  round  the  massive 
silver  base  of  the  candelabra  in  the  thick  Gothic  charac- 
ters of  a  hundred  years  before.  Joan  took  the  candle 
out  of  its  socket  and  read  the  inscription  word  by 
word  — 

"da  pacem,  domine,  in  diebus  nostris." 

It  was  her  own  scroll,  the  motto  of  the  reigning  dukes 
of  Hohenstein  —  a  strange  one,  doubtless,  to  be  that  of 
a  fighting  race,  but,  nevertheless,  her  father's  and  her 
own. 

Joan  held  the  candle  in  her  hand  a  moment,  heedless 
of  the  wax  that  dripped  on  the  floor. 

What  did  her  father's  motto,  the  device  of  her  house, 
upon  this  Baltic  Island,  far  from  the  highlands  of  Kerns- 
berg  ?  Had  these  wastes  once  belonged  to  men  of  her 
race?  And  this  woman,  who  so  regally  played  the 
mistress  of  this  strange  hermitage,  who  was  she  ?  And 
v/hat  was  the  secret  of  the  residence  of  one  in  this 
wilderness  who,  by  her  manner  might  in  her  time  have 
queened   it   in   royal  courts  ? 

And  as  Joan  of  Hohenstein  blev/  out  the  candle  she 
mused   in  her  heart  concerning  these  things. 

•  •••••• 

The  Duchess  Joan  slept  soundly,  her  dark,  boyish 
head  pillowed  on  the  full  rounded  curves  of  an  arm 
thrown  behind  her.  On  the  little  velvet-covered  table 
beside  the  bed  were  her  belt  and  its  dependent  sword, 
a  faithful  companion  in  its  sheath  of  plain  black  leather. 

165 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Under  the  pillow,  and  within  instant  reach  of  her  right 
hand,  was  her  father's  dagger.  With  it,  they  said,  Henry 
the  Lion  had  more  than  once  removed  an  enemy  who 
stood  in  his  way,  or  more  honourably  given  the  coup  de 
grace  to  a  would-be  assassin. 

Without,  the  mood  of  the  night  had  changed.  The 
sky,  which  had  hitherto  been  of  favourable  aspect,  save 
for  the  green  light  in  the  north  as  they  rowed  across  the 
waters  of  the  Haff,  was  now  overflowed  by  thin  wisps  of 
cloud  tacking  up  against  the  wind.  Towards  the  sea  a 
steely  blue  smother  had  settled  down  along  the  hori- 
zon, while  the  thunder  growled  nearer  like  a  roll  of 
distant  drums  beaten  continuously.  The  wind,  how- 
ever, was  not  regular,  but  came  in  little  puffs  and 
bursts,  now  warm,  now  cold,  from  every  point  of  the 
compass.  But  still  Joan  slept  on,  being  tired  with  her 
journey. 

In  their  chamber  in  the  wing  which  looks  towards  the 
north  the  three  captains  lay  wrapped  in  their  mantles, 
Jorian  and  Boris  answering  each  other  nasally,  in  alter- 
nate trumpet  blasts,  like  Alp  calling  to  Alp.  Werner 
von  Orseln  alone  could  not  sleep,  and  after  he  had  sworn 
and  kicked  his  noisy  companions  in  the  ribs  till  he  was 
weary  of  the  task,  he  rose  and  went  to  the  window  to 
cast  open  the  lattice.  The  air  within  felt  thick  and  hot. 
He  fumbled  long  at  the  catch,  and  in  the  unwholesome 
silence  of  the  strange  house  the  chief  captain  seemed  to 
hear  muffled  feet  going  to  and  fro  on  the  floor  above 
him.  But  of  this  he  thought  little.  P'or  strange  places 
were  familiar  to  him,  and  any  sense  of  danger  but  an 
added  spice  in  his  cup  of  life. 

At  last  he  worried  the  catch  loose,  the  lattice  pane  fell 
sagging  inwards  on  its  double  hinge  of  skin.  As  Werner 
set    his   face  to   the   opening    quick   flashes   of   summer 

i66 


The  Face  that  Looked  into  Joan's 

jightning  flamed  alternately  white  and  lilac  across  the 
horizon,  and  he  felt  the  spit  of  hailstones  in  his  face, 
driving  level  like  so  many  musket-balls  when  the  infan- 
try fires  by  platoons. 

Above,  in  the  vaulted  chamber,  Joan  turned  over  on 
her  bed,  murmuring  uneasily  in  her  sleep.  A  white 
face,  which  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  been  bent  down 
to  her  dark  head  as  it  lay  on  the  pillow,  was  suddenly 
retracted  into  the  darkness  at  the  girl's  slight  move- 
ment. 

Again,  apparently  reassured,  the  shadowy  visage 
approached  as  the  young  Duchess  lay  without  further 
motion.  Without  the  storm  broke  in  a  burst  of  appall- 
ing fury.  The  pale  blue  forks  of  the  lightning  flamed  at 
the  casement  in  flash  on  continuous  flash.  The  thunder 
shook  the  house  like  an  earthquake. 

Suddenly,  and  for  no  apparent  reason,  Joan's  eyes 
opened,  and  she  found  herself  looking  with  bewilderment 
into  a  face  that  bent  down  upon  her,  a  white  face  which 
somehow  seemed  to  hang  suspended  in  the  dark  above 
her.  The  features  were  lit  up  by  the  pulsing  lightning 
which  shone  in  the  wild  eyes  and  glittered  on  a  knife- 
blade  about  the  handle  of  which  were  clenched  the  tense 
fingers  of  a  hand  equally  detached. 

A  quick,  icy  thrill  chilled  the  girl's  marrow,  darting 
like  a  spear  through  her  body.  But  Joan  of  Hohenstein 
was  the  true  seed  of  Henry  the  Lion.  In  a  moment  her 
right  hand  had  grasped  the  dagger  under  her  pillow. 
Her  left,  shooting  upward,  closed  on  the  arm  which  held 
the  threatening  steel.  At  the  same  time  she  flung  herself 
forward,  and  with  the  roaring  turmoils  of  the  storm  din- 
ning in  her  ears  she  grappled  something  that  withstood 
her  in  the  interspace  of  darkness  that  had   followed  the 

167 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

flashes.  Joan's  spring  had  been  that  of  the  couchant 
young  wild  cat.  Almost  without  rising  from  her  bed  she 
had  projected  herself  upon  her  enemy.  Her  left  hand 
grasped  the  wrist  so  tightly  that  the  blade  fell  to  the 
ground,  whereupon  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  shifted  her 
grasp  upwards  fiercely  till  she  felt  her  fingers  sink  deep 
in  the  soft  curves  of  a  woman's  throat. 

Then  a  shriek,  long  and  terrible,  inhuman  and 
threatening,  rang  through  the  house.  A  light  began  to 
burn  yellow  and  steady  at  the  cracks  of  the  chamber  door, 
not  pulsing  and  blue  like  the  lightning  without.  Pres- 
ently, as  Joan  overbore  her  assailant  upon  the  floor,  the 
door  opened,  and  glancing  upward  she  saw  the  Wordless 
Man  stand  on  the  threshold,  a  candle  in  one  hand  and  a 
naked  sword  in  the  other. 

The  terrible  cry  which  had  rung  in  her  ears  had  been 
his.  At  sight  of  him  Joan  unclasped  her  fingers  from 
the  throat  of  the  woman  who  had  been  her  hostess  and 
rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  The  old  man  rushed  forward 
and  knelt  beside  the  prostrate  body  of  his  mistress. 

At  the  same  moment  there  came  the  sound  of  quick 
footsteps  running  up  the  stairway.  The  door  flew 
open  and  Werner  von  Orseln  burst  in,  also  sword  in 
hand. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? '"  he  shouted.  "  Who 
has  dared  to  harm  my  lady  ?  " 

Joan  did  not  answer,  but  remained  standing  tall  and 
straight  by  the  hooded  mantel  of  the  fireplace.  As  was 
her  custom,  before  lying  down  she  had  clad  herself  in  a 
loose  gown  of  white  silk  which  on  all  her  journeys  she 
carried  at  her  saddle-bow. 

She  pointed  to  the  mother  of  Maurice  von  Lynar, 
who  lay  on  the  floor,  still  unconscious,  with  the  dumb 
man  kneeling  over  her,  chafing  her  hands  and  murmur- 

i68 


The  Face  that  Looked  into  Joan's 

ing  unintelligible    tendernesses,  like  a  mother  crooning 
over  a  sick  child. 

But  the  fiice  of  the  chief  captain  grew  stern  and 
terrible  as  he  saw  on  the  floor  a  knife  of  curious  design. 
He  stooped  and  lifted  it.  It  was  a  Danish  tolleknife^  the 
edge  a  little  curved  outward  and  keen  as  a  razor. 


it»9 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE    SECRET    OF    THERESA    VON    LYNAR 

"  •'^O  down  and  bring  a  cup  of  wine  !  "  commanded 

VJ  Joan  as  soon  as  he  appeared.  And  Werner 
von  Orseln,  having  glanced  once  at  his  mistress 
where  she  stood  with  the  point  of  her  sword  to  the 
ground,  and  her  elbow  on  the  corner  of  the  mantel, 
turned  on  his  heel  and  departed  without  a  word  to  do 
her  bidding. 

Meanwhile  the  Wordless  Man  had  raised  his  mistress 
up  from  the  ground.  Her  eyes  slowly  opened  and  began 
to  wander  vaguely  round  the  room,  taking  in  the  objects 
one  bv  one.  When  they  fell  on  Joan,  standing  erect 
by  the  fireplace,  a  spasm  seemed  to  pass  across  her  face 
and  she  strove  fiercely  but  inefi^ectually  to  rise. 

"  Carry  your  mistress  to  that  couch  !  "  said  the  young 
Duchess,  pointing  to  the  tumbled  bed  from  which  a  few 
minutes  before  she  had  so  hastily  launched  herself. 

The  dumb  man  understood  either  the  words  or  the 
significant  action  of  Joan's  hand,  for  he  stooped  and 
lifted  Von  Lynar's  mother  in  his  arms.  Whilst  he  was 
thus  engaged  Werner  came  in  quickly  with  a  silver  cup 
in  his  hand. 

Joan  took  it  instantly  and  going  forward  she  put  it  to 
the  lips  of  the  woman  on  the  bed.  Her  hair  had  es- 
caped from  its  gathered  coils  and  now  flowed  in  luxuriant 
masses  of  red-gold  over  her  shoulders  and  showered   it- 


The  Secret  of  Theresa  von  Lynar 

self   oil   either    side    of   the   pillow   before    falling    in   a 
shining  cataract  to  the  floor. 

Putting  out  her  hands  the  woman  took  the  cup  and 
drank  it  slowly,  pausing  between  the  draughts  to  draw 
long  breaths. 

"  1  must  have  strength,"  she  said.  "  I  have  much  to 
say.  Then,  Joan  of  Hohenstein,  thou  shalt  judge  be- 
tween thee   and  me  !  " 

The  fluttering  of  the  lightning  at  the  window  seemed 
to  disturb  her,  for  as  Joan  bowed  her  assent  slightly  and 
sternly,  the  tall  woman  kept  looking  towards  the  lattice 
as  if  the  pulsing  flame  fretted  her.  Joan  moved  her 
hand  slightly  without  taking  her  eyes  away,  and  the 
chief  captain,  used  to  such  silent  orders  from  his  mis- 
tress, strode  over  to  the  window  and  pulled  the  curtains 
close.  The  storm  had  by  this  time  subsided  to  a  rumble 
and  only  round  the  edges  of  the  arras  could  a  faint 
occasional  glow  be  seen,  telling  of  the  turmoil  without. 
But  a  certain  faint  tremulousness  pervaded  the  house, 
which  was  the  Baltic  thundering  on  its  pebbly  beaches 
and  shaking  the  walls  to  their  sandy  foundations. 

The  colour  came  slowly  back  to  the  woman's  pale 
face,  and,  after  a  little,  she  raised  herself  on  the  pillows. 
Joan  stood  motionless  and  uncompromising  by  the  great 
iron  dogs  of  the  chimney. 

"  You  are  waiting  for  me  to  speak,  and  I  will  speak. 
You  have  a  double  right  to  know  all.  Shall  it  be  told 
to  yourself  alone,  or  in  the  presence  of  this  man  ?  " 

She  looked  at  Von  Orseln  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  have  no  secrets  in  my  life,"  said  Joan,  "  there  is 
nothing  that  I  would  hide  from  him.  Save  one  thing  !  " 
She  added  the  last  words  in  her  heart. 

"  I  warn  you  that  the  matter  concerns  yourself  very 
closely,"  answered  the  woman  somewhat  urgently. 

171 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Werner  von  Orseln  is  my  chief  captain  !  "  answered 
Joan. 

"  It  concerns  also  your  father's  honour  !  " 

"  He  was  my  father's  chief  captain  before  he  was 
mine,  and  had  charge  of  his  honour  on  twenty  fields." 

Gratefully  and  silently  Von  Orseln  lifted  his  mis- 
tress's hand  to  his  lips.  The  tall  woman  on  the  bed 
smiled   faintly. 

"It  is  well  that  your  Highness  is  so  happy  in  her  ser- 
vants.     I  have  one  who  also  can  hold  his  peace." 

She  pointed  to  the  Wordless  Man,  who  now  stood 
with  the  candelabra  in  his  hand,  mute  and  immutable  by 
his  mistress's  bedhead,  as  if  watching  that  none  should 
do  her  harm. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence  in  the  room,  filled  up 
by  the  hoarse,  persistent  booming  of  the  storm  without 
and  the  shuddering  shocks  of  the  wind  on  the  lonely 
house.  Then  the  woman  spoke  again  in  a  low,  distinct 
voice. 

"  Since  it  is  your  right  to  know  my  name,  I  am 
Theresa  von  Lynar  —  who  have  also  a  right  to  call 
myself  '  of  Hohenstein  '  —  and  your  dead  father's 
widow  !  " 

In  an  instant  the  reserve  of  Joan's  sternly  equal  mind 
was  broken  up.  She  dropped  her  sword  clattering  on 
the  floor  and  started  angrily  forwards  towards  the  bed. 

"It  is  a  lie  most  foul,"  she  cried;  "my  father  lived 
unwed  for  many  years  —  nay,  ever  since  my  mother's 
death,  who  died  in  giving  me  life,  he  never  so  much 
as  looked  on  woman.  It  is  a  thing  well  known  in  the 
Duchy  !  " 

The  woman  did  not  answer  directly. 

"  Max  Ulrich,  bring  the  silver  casket,"  she  said,  tak- 
ing from  her  neck  a  little  silver  key. 

172 


The  Secret  of  Theresa  von  Lynar 

The  Wordless  Man,  seeing  her  action,  came  forward 
p.nd  took  the  key.  He  went  out  of  the  room,  and  after 
an  interval  which  seemed  interminable  he  returned  with 
a  peculiarly  shaped  casket.  It  was  formed  like  a  heart, 
and  upon  it,  curiously  worked  in  gold  and  precious 
stones,  Joan  saw  her  father's  motto  and  the  armorial  bear- 
ings of  Hohenstein. 

The  woman  touched  a  spring  with  well-practised 
hand,  the  silver  heart  divided,  and  a  roll  of  parchment 
fell  upon  the  bed.  With  a  strange  smile  she  gave 
it  to  Joan,  beckoning  her  with  an  upward  nod  to 
approach. 

"  I  give  this  precious  document  without  fear  into  your 
hands.  It  is  my  very  soul.  But  it  is  safe  with  the 
daughter  of  Henry  the  Lion." 

Joan  took  the  crackling  parchment.  It  had  three 
seals  attached  to  it  and  the  first  part  was  in  her  father's 
handwriting. 

"  /  declare  by  these  presents  that  I  have  married^  accord- 
ing to  the  customs  of  Hohenstein  and  the  laius  of  the  Empire^ 
Theresa  von  Lynar^  daughter  of  the  Count  von  Lynar  of 
Jutland.  But  this  marriage  shall  not^  by  any  of  its  occasions 
or  consequents^  ^jf^i^t  i^^  succession  of  my  daughter  foanna  to 
the  Duchy  of  Hohenstein  and  the  Principalities  of  Kernsberg 
and  Marienfeld.  To  which  we  subscribe  our  names  as  con- 
jointly agreeing  thereto  in  the  presence  of  His  High  Eminence 
the  Cardinal  Jdrian^  Archbishop  of  Cologne  and  Elector  of 
the  Holy   Roman   Empire" 

Then  followed  the  three  signatures,  and  beneath,  in 
another   handwriting,  Joan  read   the  following:  — 

"  These  persons^  Henry  Duke  of  Hohenstein  and  Theresa 
von  Lynar ^  were  married  by  me  subject  to  the  above  conditions 
mutually  agreed  upon  in  the  Church  of  Olsen   near  to  the 

173 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Kurishe  Haff'^  in  the  presence  of  yulius  Count  von  Lytiar 
and  his  sons  Wolf  and  Mark^  in  the  year  i^ — ,  the  day 
being  the  eve  of  St.  fohn.  —  Adrian  Archiepiscop.  et 
Elector." 

After  her  first  shock  of  surprise  was  over  Joan  noted 
carefully  the  date.  It  was  one  year  after  her  own  birth, 
and  therefore  the  like  period  after  the  death  of  her 
mother,  the  openly  acknowledged  Duchess  of  Hohen- 
stein. 

The  quick  eyes  of  the  woman  on  the  bed  had  fol- 
lowed hers  as  they  read  carefully  down  the  parchment, 
eagerly  and  also  apprehensively,  like  those  of  a  mother 
who  for  some  weighty  reason  has  placed  her  child  in 
peril. 

Joan  folded  the  parchment  and  handed  it  back.  Then 
she  stood  silent  waiting  for  an  explanation. 

The  woman  took  up  her  parable  calmly,  like  one  who 
has  long  comprehended  that  such  a  crisis  must  one  day 
arrive,  and  who  knows  her  part  thoroughly. 

*'  I,  who  speak  to  you,  am  Theresa  von  Lynar.  Your 
father  saw  me  first  at  the  coronation  of  our  late  sovereign, 
Christian,  King  of  Denmark.  And  we  loved  one  another. 
For  this  cause  I  moved  my  brother  and  his  sons  to  build 
Castle  Lynar  on  the  shores  of  the  Northern  Sea.  For 
this  cause  I  accompanied  him  thither.  For  many  years 
at  Castle  Lynar,  and  also  at  this  place,  called  the  Her- 
mitage of  the  Dunes,  Henry  of  Kernsberg  and  I  dwelt 
in  such  happiness  as  mortals  seldom  know.  I  loved 
your  father,  obeyed  him,  adored  him,  lived  only  for  him. 
But  there  came  a  spring  when  my  brother,  being,  like 
your  father,  a  hot  and  passionate  man,  quarrelled  with 
Duke  Henry,  threatening  to  go  before  the  Diet  of  the 
Empire  if  I  were  not  immediately  acknowledged  Duchess 
and    my    son    Maurice    von    Lynar  made   the    heir   of 


The  Secret  of  Theresa  von  Lynar 

Hohenstein.  But  I,  being  true  to  my  oath  and  promise, 
left  my  brother  and  abode  here  alone  with  my  husband 
when  he  could  escape  from  his  Dukedom,  living  like  a 
simple  squire  and  his  dame.  Those  were  happy  days 
and  made  up  for  much.  Then  in  an  evil  day  I  sent  my 
son  to  my  brother  to  train  as  his  own  son  in  arms  and 
the  arts  of  war.  But  he,  being  at  enmity  with  my  hus- 
band, made  ready  to  carry  the  lad  before  the  Diet  of  the 
Empire,  that  he  might  be  declared  heir  to  his  father. 
Then,  in  his  anger,  Henry  the  Lion  rose  and  swept 
Castle  Lynar  with  fire  and  sword,  leaving  none  alive  but 
this  boy  only,  whom  he  meant  to  take  home  and  train 
with  his  captains.  But  on  the  way  home,  even  as  he 
rode  southward  through  the  forest  towards  Kernsberg,  he 
reeled  in  the  saddle  and  passed  ere  he  could  speak  a 
word,  even  the  name  of  those  he  loved.  So  the  boy 
remained  a  captive  at  Kernsberg,  called  by  my  brother's 
name,  and  knowing  even  to  this  day  nothing  of  his 
father." 

And  as  the  woman  ceased  speaking  Werner  von 
Orseln  nodded  gravelv  and  sadly. 

"This  thing  concerning  my  lord's  death  is  true,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  was  present.  These  arms  received  him  as  he 
fell.      He  was  dead  ere  we  laid  him  on  the  ground  !  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  raised  herself.  She  had  spoken 
thus  far  reclining  on  the  bed  from  which  Joan  had  risen. 
Now  she  sat  up  and  for  a  little  space  rested  her  hands  on 
her  lap  ere  she  went  on. 

"Then  my  son,  whom,  not  knowing,  you  had  taken 
pity  upon,  and  raised  to  honour,  and  who  is  now  your 
faithful  servant,  sent  a  secret  messenger  that  you  would 
come  to  abide  secretly  with  me  till  a  certain  dark  day  had 
overpassed  in  Kernsberg.  And  then  there  sprang  up  in 
my  heart  a  dreadful  conceit  that  he  loved  you,  knowing 

175 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

young  blood  and  hearing  the  fame  of  your  beauty,  and  ] 
was  afraid  for  the  greatness  of  the  sin  —  that  one  should 
love  his  sister." 

Joan  made  a  quick  gesture  of  dissent,  but  the  woman 
went  on. 

"I  thought,  being  a  woman  alone,  and  one  also 
who  had  given  all  freely  up  for  love's  sake,  that  he 
would  certainly  love  you  even  as  I  had  loved.  And 
when  I  saw  you  in  my  house,  so  cold  and  so  proud, 
and  when  I  thought  within  me  that  but  for  you  my  son 
would  have  been  a  mighty  prince,  a  strange  terrible 
anger  and  madness  came  over  me,  darkening  my  soul. 
For  a  moment  I  would  have  slain  you.  But  I  could 
not,  because  you  were  asleep.  And,  even  as  you  stirred, 
I  heard  you  speak  the  name  of  a  man,  as  only  one  who 
loves  can  speak  it.  I  know  right  well  how  that  is, 
having  listened  to  it  with  a  glad  heart  in  the  night. 
The  name  was  —  " 

"  Hold  !  "  cried  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand.  "  I  believe 
you  —  I  forgive  you  !  " 

"  The  name,"  continued  Theresa  von  Lynar,  "  was 
not  that  of  my  son  !  And  now,"  she  continued,  slowly 
rising  from  the  couch  to  her  height,  "  I  am  ready.  I 
bid  you  slay  me  for  the  evil  deed  my  heart  was  willing 
for  a  moment  to  do  !  " 

Joan  looked  at  her  full  in  the  eyes  for  the  space  of  a 
breath.  Then  suddenly  she  held  out  her  hand  and 
answered  like  her  father's  daughter, 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  I  only  marvel  that  you  did  not 
strike  me  to  the  heart,  because  of  your  son's  loss  and  my 
father's  sin  I  " 


L176 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BORNE  ON  THE  GREAT  WAVE 

IT  chanced  that  in  the  chamber  from  which  Werner 
von  Orseln  had  come  so  swiftly  at  the  cry  of  the 
"Wordless  Man,  Boris  and  Jorian,  after  sleeping  through 
the  disturbances  above  them  and  the  first  burst  of  the 
storm,  were  waked  by  the  blowing  open  of  the  lattice  as 
the  wind  reached  its  height.  Jorian  lay  still  on  his  pallet 
and  slily  kicked  Boris,  hoping  that  he  would  rise  and  take 
upon  him  the  task  of  shutting  it. 

Then  to  Boris,  struggling  upward  to  the  surface  of  the 
ocean  of  sleep,  came  the  same  charitable  thought  with 
regard  to  Jorian.  So  both  kicking  out  at  the  same  time, 
their  feet  encountered  with  a  clash  of  iron  footgear,  and 
so  with  surly  snarls  they  hent  them  on  their  feet,  abusing 
each  other  in  voices  which  could  be  heard  above  the 
humming  of  the  storm  without.  It  was  tall  Boris  who, 
having  cursed  himself  empty,  first  made  his  way  to  the 
window.  The  lattice  hung  by  one  leathern  thong. 
The  other  had  been  torn  away,  and  indeed  it  was  a 
wonder  that  the  whole  framework  had  not  been  blown 
bodily  into  the  room.  For  the  tempest  pressed  against 
it  straight  from  the  north,  and  the  sticky  spray  from  the 
waves  which  broke  on  the  shingle  drove  stingingly  into 
the  eyes  of  the  man-at-arms  as  he  looked  out. 

Nevertheless  he  thrust  his  head  out,  looked  a  moment 
through  half-closed  eyelids,  and  then  cried,  "  Jorian,  we 

12  177 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

are  surely  lost.  The  sea  is  breaking  in  upon  us.  It 
has  passed  the  beach  of  shingle  out  there  !  " 

And  seizing  Jorian  by  the  arm  Boris  made  his  way  to 
the  door  by  which  they  had  entered,  and,  undoing  the 
bolts,  they  reached  the  walled  courtyard,  where,  however, 
thev  found  themselves  in  the  open  air,  but  sheltered  from 
the  utmost  violence  of  the  tempest.  There  was  a  mo- 
mentary difficulty  here,  because  neither  could  find  the  key 
of  the  heavy  door  in  the  boundary  wall.  But  Boris  ever 
fertile  in  expedient,  discovered  a  ladder  under  a  kind  of 
shed,  and  setting  it  against  the  northern  wall  he  climbed 
to  the  top.  While  he  remained  under  the  shelter  of  the 
wall  his  body  was  comfortably  warm  ;  only  an  occasional 
veering  flaw  sent  a  purl  of  what  he  was  to  meet  down- 
wards. But  the  instant  his  head  was  above  the  copestone, 
and  the  ice-cold  northerly  blast  met  him  like  a  wall,  he 
fairly  gasped,  for  the  furious  onslaught  of  the  storm 
seemed  to  blow  every  particle  of  breath  clean  out  of  his 
body. 

The  spindrift  flew  smoking  past,  momentarily  white 
in  the  constant  lightning  flashes,  and  before  him,  and 
apparently  almost  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  Boris  saw  a 
wonderful  sight.  The  sea  appeared  to  be  climbing, 
climbing,  climbing  upwards  over  a  narrow  belt  of  sand 
and  shingle  which  separated  the  scarcely  fretted  HafF 
from  the  tumbling   milk   of  the  outer  Baltic. 

In  another  moment  Jorian  was  beside  him,  crouching 
on  the  top  of  the  wall  to  save  himself  from  being  carried 
away.  And  there,  in  the  steamy  smother  of  the  sea, 
backed  by  th?'  blue  electric  flame  of  the  lightning,  they 
saw  the  slant  masts  of  a  vessel  labouring  to  beat  against 
the  wind. 

"  Poor  souls,  thev  are  gone  !  "  said  Boris,  trying  to 
shield    his  eyes    with    his   palm,   as   the   black  hull   dis' 

178 


Borne  on  the  Great  Wave 

appeared  and  the  masts  seemed  to  lurch  forward  into  the 
milky  turmoil.      "We  shall  never  see  her  again." 

For  one  moment  all  was  dark  as  pitch,  and  the  next 
a  dozen  flashes  of  lightning  burst  every  way,  as  many 
appearing  to  rise  upwards  as  could  be  seen  to  fall  down- 
wards. A  black  speck  poised  itself  on  the  crest  of  a 
wave.  "  It  is  a  boat  !  It  can  never  live !  "  cried  the 
two  men  together,  and  dropping  from  the  top  of  the 
wall  they  ran  down  to  the  shore,  going  as  near  as  they 
dared  to  the  surf  which  arched  and  fell  with  ponderous 
roar  on  the  narrow  strip  of  shingle. 

Here  Jorian  and  Boris  ran  this  way  and  that,  trying 
to  pierce  the  blackness  of  the  sky  with  their  spray- 
blinded  eyes,  but  nothing  more,  either  of  the  ship  or  of 
the  boat  which  had  put  out  from  it,  did  they  see.  The 
mountainous  roll  and  ceaseless  iteration  of  the  oncoming 
breakers  hid  the  surface  of  the  sea  from  their  sight, 
while  the  sky,  changing  with  each  pulse  of  the  lightning 
from  densest  black  to  green  shot  with  violet,  told  noth- 
ing of  the  men's  lives  which  were  being  riven  from 
their  bodies   beneath   it. 

"Back,  Boris,  back!"  cried  Jorian  suddenly,  as  after 
a  succession  of  smaller  waves  a  gigantic  and  majestic 
roller  arched  along  the  whole  seaward  front,  stood  a 
moment  black  and  imminent  above  them,  and  then  fell 
like  a  whole  mountain-range  in  a  snowy  avalanche  of 
troubled  water  which  rushed  savagely  up  the  beach. 
The  two  soldiers,  who  would  have  faced  unblanched  any 
line  of  living  enemies  in  the  world,  fled  terror-stricken  at 
the  onrush  of  that  sea  of  milk.  The  wet  sand  seemed 
to  catch  and  hold  their  feet  as  they  ran,  so  that  they  felt 
in  their  hearts  the  terrible  sensation  of  one  who  flees  in 
dreams  from  some  hideous  imagined  terror  and  who 
finds  his  powers  fail  him  as  his  pursuer  approaches. 

179 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Upward  and  still  upward  the  wave  swept  with  a  soft, 
jniversal  hiss  which  drowned  and  dominated  the  rataplan 
of  the  thunder-peals  above  and  the  sonorous  diapason  of 
the  surf  around  them.  It  rushed  in  a  creaming  smother 
about  their  ankles,  plucked  at  their  knees,  but  could  rise 
no  higher.  Yet  so  fierce  was  the  back  draught,  that 
when  the  water  retreated,  dragging  the  pebbles  with  it 
down  the  shingly  shore  with  the  rattle  of  a  million  casta- 
nets, the  two  stout  captains  of  Plassenburg  were  thrown 
on  their  faces  and  lay  as  dead  on  the  wet  and  sticky  stones, 
each  clutching;  a  double  handful  of  broken  shells  and 
oozy  sand  which  streamed  through  their  numbed  fingers. 

Boris  was  the  first  to  rise,  and  finding  Jorian  still  on  his 
face  he  caught  the  collar  of  his  doublet  and  pulled  him 
with  little  ceremony  up  the  sloping  bank  out  of  tide- 
reach,  throwing  him  down  on  the  shingly  summit  with 
as  little  tenderness  or  compunction  as  if  he  had  been  a 
bag  of  wet  salt. 

By  this  time  the  morning  was  advancing  and  the 
storm  growing  somewhat  less  continuous.  Instead  of 
the  wind  bearing  a  dead  weight  upon  the  face,  it  came 
now  in  furious  gusts.  Instead  of  one  grand  roar,  multi- 
tudinous in  voice  yet  uniform  in  tone,  it  hooted  and 
piped  overhead  as  if  a  whole  brood  of  evil  spirits  were 
riding  headlong  down  the  tempest-track.  Instead  of 
coming  on  in  one  solid  bank  of  blackness,  the  clout's 
were  broken  into  a  wrack  of  wild  and  fantastic  frar- 
ments,  the  interspaces  of  which  showed  paly  green  and 
pearly  grey.  The  thunder  retreated  growling  behind  the 
horizon.  The  violet  lightning  grew  less  continuous, 
and  only  occasionally  rose  and  fell  in-  vague,  distant 
flickerings  towards  the  north,  as  if  someone  were  lifting 
a   lantern  almost   to  the   sea-line  and   dropping   it  again 


'■^Qre   reaching  it. 


i8o 


Borne  on  the  Great  Wave 

Looking  back  from  the  summit  of  the  mound,  Boris 
saw  something  dark  lying  high  up  on  the  beach  amid  a 
wrack  of  seaweed  and  broken  timber  which  marked 
where  the  great  wave  had  stopped.  Something  odd 
about  the  shape  took  his  eye. 

A  moment  later  he  was  leaping  down  again  towards 
the  shore,  taking  his  longest  strides,  and  sending  the 
pebbles  spraying  out  in  front  and  on  all  sides  of  him. 
He  stooped  and  found  the  body  of  a  man,  tall,  well- 
formed,  and  of  manly  figure.  He  was  bareheaded  and 
stripped  to  his  breeches  and   underwear. 

Boris  stooped  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart.  Yes, 
so  much  was  certain.  He  was  not  dead.  Whereupon 
the  ex-man-at-arms  lifted  him  as  well  as  he  could  and 
dragged  him  by  the  elbows  out  of  reach  of  the  waves. 
Then  he  went  back  to  Jorian  and  kicked  him  in  the 
ribs.     The  rotund  man  sat  up  with  an  execration. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  Boris,  "  don't  lie  there  like  Reynard 
the  Fox  waiting  for  Kayward  the  Hare.  We  want  no 
malingering  here.  There  's  a  man  at  death's  door  down 
on  the  shingle.  Come  and  help  me  to  carry  him  to  the 
house." 

It  was  a  heavy  task,  and  Jorian's  head  spun  with  the 
shock  of  the  wave  and  the  weight  of  their  burden  long 
before  they  reached  the  point  where  the  boundary  wall 
approached  nearest  to  the  house. 

"  We  can  never  hope  to  get  him  up  that  ladder  and 
down  the  other  side,"  said  Boris,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Even  if  we  had  the  ladder  !  "  answered  Jorian,  glad 
of  a  chance  to  grumble  ;  "  but,  thanks  to  your  stupidity, 
it   is  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall." 

Without  noticing  his  companion's  words,  Boris  took 
a  handful  of  small  pebbles  and  threw  them  up  at  a 
lighted    window.     The    head    of   Werner    von    Orseln 

iSi 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

immediately  appeared,  his  grizzled  hair  blown  out  like 
a  misty  aureole  about  his  temples. 

"  Come  down,"  shouted  Boris,  making  a  trumpet  of 
his  hands  to  fight  the  wind  withal.  "  We  have  found  a 
drowned  man  on  the  beach  !  " 

And  indeed  it  seemed  literally  so,  as  they  carried  their 
burden  round  the  walls  to  the  wicket  door  and  waited. 
It  seemed  an  interminable  time  before  Werner  von  Orseln 
arrived  with  the  dumb  man's  lantern  in  his  hand. 

They  carried  the  body  into  the  great  hall,  where  the 
Duchess  and  the  old  servitor  met  them.  There  they 
laid  him  on  a  table.  Joan  herself  lifted  the  lantern  and 
held  it  to  his  face.  His  fair  hair  clustered  about  his 
head  in  wet  knots  and  shining  twists.  The  features  of 
his  face  were  white  as  death  and  carven  like  those  of  a 
statue.  But  at  the  sight  the  heart  of  the  Duchess  leaped 
wildly  within  her. 

"Conrad!"  she  cried — that  word  and  no  more. 
And  the  lantern  fell  to  the  floor  from  her  nerveless 
hand. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind.  She  could  make 
no  mistake.  The  regular  features,  the  pillar-like  neck, 
the  massive  shoulders,  the  strong,  clean-cut  mouth,  the 
broad  white  brow  —  and  —  yes,  the  slight  tonsure  of  the 
priest.  It  was  the  White  Knight  of  the  Courtland  lists, 
the  noble  Prince  of  the  summer  parlour,  the  red-robed 
prelate  of  her  marriage-day,  Conrad  of  Courtland,  Prince 
and  Cardinal,  but  to  her,  "  he  "  —  the  only  "  he." 


182 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    GIRL    BENEATH    THE    LAMP 

WHEN  Conrad,  Cardinal- designate  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Church  and  Archbishop  of  Courtland, 
opened  his  eyes,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  passed 
through  warring  waters  into  the  serenity  of  the  life 
beyond.  His  hand,  on  which  still  glittered  his  episcopal 
ring,  lay  on  a  counterpane  of  faded  rose  silk,  soft  as 
down.  Did  he  dream  that  another  hand  had  been  hold- 
ing it,  that  gentlest  fingers  had  rested  caressingly  on  his 
brow  ? 

A  girl,  sweet  and  stately,  sat  by  his  bedside.  By  the 
door  to  which  alone  he  could  raise  his  eyes,  stood  a  tall, 
gaunt  man,  clad  in  grey  from  head  to  foot,  his  hands 
clasped  in  front  of  him,  and  his  chin  sunk  upon  his  breast. 

The  Prince-Bishop's  eyes  rested  languidly  on  the  girl's 
face,  on  which  fell  the  light  of  a  shaded  silver  lamp. 
There  was  a  book  in  her  lap,  written  upon  sheets  of 
thin  parchment,  bound  in  silver-embossed  leather.  But 
she  did  not  read  it.  Instead  she  breathed  softly  and 
regularly.  She  was  asleep,  with  her  hand  on  the  cover- 
let of  rosy  silk. 

Strange  fancies  passed  through  the  humming  brain  of 
the  rescued  man  —  as  it  had  been,  hunting  each  other 
across  a  stage  —  visions  of  perilous  endeavour,  of  fights 
with  wild  beasts  in  shut-in  places  from  which  there 
was  no  escape,  of  brutal  fisticuffs  with  savage  men. 
All  these  again   merged  Into  the  sense  of  falling  from 

183 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

immense  heights  only  to  find  that  the  air  upheld  him 
and  that,  instead  of  breaking  himself  to  pieces  at  the 
bottom,  he  fell  soft  as  thistledown  on  couches  of  flowers. 
Strange,  rich,  heady  scents  seemed  to  rise  about  him  like 
something  palpable.  His  brain  wavered  behind  his  brow 
like  a  summer  landscape  when  the  sun  is  hot  after  a 
shower.  Perfumes,  strange  and  haunting,  dwelt  in  his 
nostrils.  The  scent,  at  once  sour  and  sweet,  of  bee- 
hives at  night,  the  richness  of  honey  in  the  comb,  the 
delicacy  of  wet  banks  of  violets,  full-odoured  musk,  and 
the  luxury  of  sun-warmed  afternoon  beanfields,  dreamily 
sweet  —  these  made  his  soul  swoon  within  him.  Then 
followed  odours  of  rose-gardens,  of  cool  walks  drenched 
in  shadow  and  random  scents  blown  in  at  open  windows. 
Yes,  he  knew  now  ;  surely  he  was  again  in  his  own 
chamber  in  the  summer  pavilion  of  the  palace  in  Court- 
land.  He  could  hear  the  cool  wash  of  the  Alia  under 
its  walls,  and  with  the  assurance  there  came  somehow  a 
memory  of  a  slim  lad  with  clear-cut  features  who 
brought  him  a  message  from  —  was  it  his  sister  Margaret, 
or  Louis  his  brother  ?      He  could  not  remember. 

Of  what  had  he  been  dreaming  ?  In  the  endeavour 
to  recall  something  he  harked  back  on  the  terrors  of  the 
night  in  which,  of  all  on  board  the  ship,  his  soul  alone 
had  remained  serene.  He  remembered  the  fury  of  the 
storm,  the  helpless  impotence  and  blank  cowardice  of 
the  sailor  folk,  the  desertion  of  the  officers  in  the  only 
seaworthv  boat. 

Slov/ly  the  drifting  mists  steadied  themselves  athwart 
his  brain.  The  actual  recomposed  itself  out  of  the 
shreds  of  dreams.  Conrad  found  himself  in  a  long,  low 
room  such  as  he  had  seen  many  times  in  the  houses  of 
well-to-do  ritters  along  the  Baltic  shores.  The  beams 
of  the  roof-tree  above  were  carven  and  ancient.     Arras 

184 


1  ne  Vjiri  Deneatn  tne 


i^amp 


went  everywhere  about  the  walls.  Silver  candlesticks, 
with  princely  crests  graven  upon  them,  stood  by  his 
bedhead.  After  each  survey  his  eyes  settled  on  the 
sleeping  girl.  She  was  very  young  and  very  beautiful. 
It  was  —  yet  it  could  not  be  —  the  Duchess  Joan,  whom 
he  himself  had  married  to  his  brother  Louis  in  the 
cathedral  church  of  his  own  archiepiscopal  city. 

Conrad  of  Courtland  had  not  been  trained  a  priest, 
yat,  as  was  common  at  that  age,  birth  and  circumstance 
h:^^  made  him  a  Prince  of  the  Roman  Church.  He  had 
been  thrust  into  the  hierarchy  solely  because  of  his  name, 
for  he  had  succeeded  his  uncle  Adrian  in  his  posts  and 
emoluments  as  a  legal  heir  succeeds  to  an  undisputed 
property.  In  due  time  he  received  his  red  hat  from  a 
pontiff  who  distributed  these  among  his  favourites  (or 
those  whom  he  thought  might  aggrandise  his  temporal 
power)  as  freely  as  one  who  distributes  favours  at  a 
wedding. 

Nevertheless,  Conrad  of  Courtland  had  all  the  warm 
life  and  imperious  impulses  of  a  young  man  within  his 
breast.  Yet  he  was  no  Borgia  or  Delia  Rovere,  cloaking 
scarlet  sins  with  scarlet  vestments.  For  with  the  high 
dignities  of  his  position  and  the  solemn  work  which  lay 
to  his  hand  in  his  northern  province  there  had  come  the 
resolve  to  be  not  less,  but  more  faithful  than  those  martyrs 
and  confessors  of  whom  he  read  daily  in  his  Breviary. 
And  while,  in  Rome  herself,  vice-proud  princes,  con- 
sorting in  the  foulest  alliance  with  pagan  popes,  blas- 
phemed the  sanctuary  and  openly  scoffed  at  religion,  this 
finest  and  most  chivalrous  of  young  northern  knights 
had  laid  down  the  weapons  of  his  warfare  to  take  up  the 
crucifix,  and  now  had  set  ovn  joyfully  for  Rome  to 
receive  his  cardinal's  hat  on  his  knees  as  the  last  and 
greatest  gift  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ. 

185 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

He  had  thus  begun  his  pilgrimage  by  express  com- 
mand of  the  Holy  Father,  who  desired  to  make  the  arch- 
bishop his  Papal  assessor  among  the  Electors  of  the 
Empire.  But  scarcely  was  he  clear  of  the  Courtland 
shores  when  there  had  come  the  storm,  the  shipwreck, 
the  wild  struggle  among  the  white  and  foaming  breakers, 
—  and  then,  wondrously  emergent,  like  heaven  after 
purgatory,  the  quiet  of  this  sheltered  room  and  this 
sleeping  girl,  with  her  white  hand  lying  lax  and  delicate 
on  the  rosy  silk. 

The  book  slipped  suddenly  from  her  fingers,  falling 
on  the  polished  wood  of  the  floor  with  a  startling  sound. 
The  eyes  of  the  gaunt  man  by  the  door  were  lifted  from 
the  ground,  glittered  beadily  for  a  moment,  and  again 
dropped  as  before. 

The  girl  did  not  start,  but  rather  passed  immediately 
into  full  consciousness  with  a  little  shudder  and  a  quick 
gesture  of  the  hand,  as  if  she  pushed  something  or  some- 
one from  her.  Then,  from  the  pillow  on  which  his 
head  lay,  Joan  of  Hohenstein  saw  the  eyes  of  the  Prince 
Conrad  gazing  at  her,  dark  and  solemn  from  within  the 
purplish  rings  of  recent  peril. 

"  You  are  my  brother's  wife  !  "  he  said  softly,  but  yet 
in  the  same  rich  and  thrilling  voice  she  had  listened  to 
with  so  many  heart-stirrings  in  the  summer  palace,  and 
had  last  heard  ring  through  the  cathedral  church  of 
Courtland  on  that  day  when  her  life  had  ended. 

A  chill  came  over  the  girl's  face  at  his  words. 

"  I  am  indeed  the  Duchess  Joan  of  Hohenstein," 
she  answered.  My  father  willed  that  I  should  wed 
Prince  Louis  of  Courtland.  Well,  I  married  him 
and  rode  away.  In  so  much  I  am  your  brother's 
wife." 

It  was  a  strange  awaking  for  a  man  who  had   passed 

186 


The  Girl  beneath  the  Lamp 

from  death  to  life,  but  at  least  her  impetuosity  convinced 
him  that  the  girl  was  flesh  and  blood. 

He  smiled  wanly.  The  light  of  the  lamp  seemed  to 
ivaver  again  before  his  eyes.  He  saw  his  companion  as 
it  had  been  transformed  and  gloried.  He  heard  the  roll- 
ing of  drums  in  his  ears,  and  merry  pipes  played  far 
away.  Then  came  the  hush  of  many  waters  flowing 
softly,  and  last,  thrumming  on  the  parched  earth,  and 
drunk  down  gladly  by  tired  flowers,  the  sound  of  abun- 
dance of  rain.  The  world  grew  full  of  sleep  and  rest 
and  refreshment.  There  was  no  longer  need  to  care 
about  anything. 

His  eyes  closed,  and  he  seemed  about  to  sink  back 
into  unconsciousness,  when  Joan  rose,  and  with  a  few 
drops  of  Dessauer's  phial,  which  she  kept  by  her  in  case 
of  need,  she  called  him  back  from  the  misty  verges  of 
the  things  which  are  without. 

As  he  struggled  painfully  upward  he  seemed  to  hear 
Joan's  last  words  repeated  and  re-repeated  to  the  music 
of  a  chime  of  fairy  bells,  "  In  so  much  —  in  so  much  I  am 
your  brother  s  wife^  your  brother  s  wife  /  "  He  came  to 
himself  with  a  start. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  how  I  came  here,  and  to  whom  I 
am  indebted  for  my  life  ?  "  he  said,  as  Joan  stood  beside 
him,  her  shapely  head  dim  and  retired  in  the  dusk  above 
the  lamp,  only  her  chin  and  the  shapely  curves  of  her 
throat  being  illumined  by  the  warm  lamplight. 

"  You  were  picked  up  for  dead  on  the  beach  in  the 
midst  of  the  storm,"  she  answered,  "  and  were  brought 
hither  by  two  captains  in  the  service  of  the  Prince  of 
Plassenburg  !  " 

"  And  where  is  this  place,  and  when  can  I  leave  it  to 
proceed  upon  my  journey  ?  " 

The   girl's   head  was  turned   away  from   him   a   trifle 

187 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

more  haughtily  than  before,  and  she  answered  coldly, 
"  You  are  in  a  certain  fortified  grange  somewhere  on 
the  Baltic  shore.  As  to  when  you  can  proceed  on  your 
journey,  that  depends  neither  on  you  nor  on  me.  I  am 
a  prisoner  here.  And  so  I  fear  must  you  also  consider 
yourself!  " 

"  A  prisoner !  Then  has  my  brother  —  ?  "  cried 
the  Prince-Bishop,  starting  up  on  his  elbow  and  instantly 
dropping  back  again  upon  the  pillow  with  a  groan  of 
mingled  pain  and  weakness.  Joan  looked  at  him  a  mo- 
ment and  then,  compressing  her  lips  with  quick  resolu- 
tion, went  to  the  bedside  and  with  her  hand  under  his 
head  rearranged  the  pillow  and  laid  him  back  in  an  easier 
posture. 

'^'  You  must  lie  still,"  she  said  in  a  commanding  tone, 
and  yet  softly  ;  "  you  are  too  weak  to  move.  Also  you 
must  obey  me.      I  have  some  skill  in  leechcraft," 

"  I  am  content  to  be  your  prisoner,"  said  the  Prince- 
Bishop,  smiling  —  "that  is,  till  I  am  well  enough  to 
proceed  on  my  journey  to  Rome,  whither  the  Holy 
Father    Pope    Sixtus     hath    summoned    me    by    special 


messenger." 


"  I  fear  me  much,"  answered  Joan,  "  that,  spite  of 
the  Holy  Father,  we  may  be  fellow  prisoners  of  long 
standing.  Those  of  my  own  folk  who  hold  me  here 
against  my  will  are  hardly  likely  to  let  the  brother  of 
Prince  Louis  of  Courtland  escape  with  news  of  my 
hiding-place  and  hermitage  !  " 

The  young  man  seemed  as  if  he  would  again  have 
started  up,  but  with  a  gesture  smilingly  imperious  Joan 
forbade  him. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,"  perhaps  if  you  are  patient  I 
will  tell  you  more.  Here  comes  our  hostess.  It  is  time 
that   I   should   leave   you," 

i8S 


The  Girl  beneath  the  Lamp 

Theresa  von  Lynar  came  softly  to  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  stood  beside  Joan.  The  young  Cardinal  thought 
that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  queenly  pair  —  Joan  re- 
splendent in  her  girlish  strength  and  beauty,  Theresa 
still  in  the  ripe  glory  of  womanhood.  There  was  a 
gentler  light  than  before  in  the  elder  woman's  eye,  and 
she  cast  an  almost  deprecating  glance  upon  Joan.  For 
at  the  first  sound  of  her  approach  the  girl  had  stiffened 
visibly,  and  now,  with  a  formal  word  as  to  the  sick 
man's  condition,  and  a  cold  bow  to  Conrad,  she  moved 
away. 

Theresa  watched  her  a  little  sadly  as  she  passed 
behind  the  deep  curtain.  Then  she  sighed,  and  turning 
again  to  the  bedside  she  looked  long  at  the  young  man 
without  speaking. 


tit) 


CHAPTER    XXVII 


WIFE    AND    PRIEST 


•'  Y  HAVE  a  right  to  call  myself  the  widow  of  the  Duke 

A  Henry  of  Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein,"  said 
Theresa  von  Lynar,  in  reply  to  Conrad's  question  as  to 
whom  he  might  thank  for  rescue  and  shelter. 

"  And  therefore  the  mother  of  the  Duchess  Joan  ?  " 
he  continued. 

Theresa  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said  sadly  ;  "  I  am  not  her  mother,  but  — 
and  even  that  only  in  a  sense  —  her  stepmother.  A 
promise  to  a  dead  man  has  kept  me  from  claiming  any 
privileges  save  that  of  living  unknown  on  this  desolate 
isle  of  sand  and  mist.  Mv  son  is  an  officer  in  the  ser- 
vice  of  the   Duchess  Joan," 

The  face  of  the  Prince-Bishop  lighted  up  in- 
stantaneously. 

"  Most  surely,  then,  I  know  him.  Did  he  not  come 
to  Courtland  with  my  Lord  Dessauer,  the  Ambassador 
of  Plassenburg  ?  " 

The  lady  of  Isle  Rugen  nodded  indifferently. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "I  believe  he  went  to  Courtland 
with  the  embassy  from  Plassenburg," 

"  Indeed,  I  was  much  drawn  to  him,"  said  the  Prince 
eagerly  ;  "  I  remember  him  most  vividly.  He  was  of 
an  olive  complexion,  his  features  without  colour,  but 
graven  even  as  the  Greeks  cut  those  of  a  young  god  on 
a  gem." 


Wife  and  Priest 

"  Yes,"  said  Theresa  von  Lynar  serenely,  "  he  has 
his  father's  face  and  carriage,  which  are  those  also  of 
the  Duchess  Joan." 

"  And  why,"  said  the  young  man,  "  if  I  may  ask 
without  offence,  is  your  son  not  the  heir  to  the 
Dukedom  ?  " 

There  was  a  downcast  sadness  in  the  woman's  voice 
and  eye  as  she  replied,  "  Because  when  I  wedded  Duke 
Henry  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  aught  which  might 
be  should  never  stand  between  his  daughter  and  her  her- 
itage ;  and,  in  spite  of  deadly  wrong  done  to  those  of 
my  house,  I  have  kept  my  word." 

The  Prince-Cardinal  thought  long  with  knitted  brow. 

"  The  Duchess  is  my  brother  Louis's  wife,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"  In  name !  "  said  Theresa,  quickly  and  breathlessly, 
like  one  called  on  unexpectedly  to  defend  an  absent  friend. 

"  She  is  his  wife  —  I  married  them.  I  am  a  priest," 
he  made  answer, 

A  gleam,  sharp  and  quick  as  lightning  jetted  from  a 
thunder  cloud,  sprang  into  the  woman's  eye. 

"  In  this  matter  I,  Theresa  von  Lynar,  am  wiser  than 
all  the  priests  in  the  world.  Joan  of  Hohenstein  is  no 
more  his  wife  than  I  am  !  " 

"  Holy  Church,  the  mother  of  us  all,  made  them 
one  !  "  said  the  Cardinal  sententiously.  For  such  words 
come  easily  to  dignitaries,  even  when  they  are  young. 

She  bent  towards  him  and  looked  long  into  his  eyes. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  you  do  not  know.  How  is  it 
possible  ?  You  are  too  young  to  have  learned  the  deep 
things — too  certain  of  vour  own  righteousness.  But 
you  will  learn  some  dav.  I,  Theresa  von  Lynar,  know 
—  ay,  though  I  bear  the  name  of  my  father  and  not 
that  of  my  husband  !  "      And  at  this  imperious  word  the 

191 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Prince  was  silent  and  thought  with  gravity  upon  these 
things. 

Theresa  sat  motionless  and  silent  by  his  bed  till  the 
day  rose  cool  and  untroubled  out  of  the  east,  softly  aglow 
with  the  sheen  of  clouded  silk,  pearl-grey  and  delicate. 
Prince  Conrad,  being  greatly  wearied  and  bruised  in- 
wardly with  the  buffeting  of  the  waves  and  the  stones  of 
the  shore,  slumbered  restlessly  and  with  many  tossings 
and  turnings.  But  as  oft  as  he  moved,  the  hands  of  the 
woman  who  had  been  a  wife  were  upon  him,  ordering 
his  bruised  limbs  with  swift  knowledgeable  tenderness,  so 
that  he  did  not  wake,  but  gradually  fell  again  into  dream- 
less and  refreshing  sleep.  This  was  easy  to  her,  because 
the  secret  of  pain  was  not  hid  from  Theresa,  the  widow 
of  the  Duke  of  Hohenstein  —  though  Henry  the  Lion's 
daughter,  as  yet,  knew  it  not. 

In  the  morning  Joan  came  to  bid  the  patient  good 
morrow,  while  Werner  von  Orseln  stood  in  the  doorway 
with  his  steel  cap  doffed  in  his  hand,  and  Boris  and 
Jorian  bent  the  knee  for  a  priestly  blessing.  But 
Theresa  did  not  again  appear  till  night  and  darkness  had 
wrapped  the  earth,  and  being  all  alone  he  listened  to  the 
heavy  plunge  of  the  breakers  on  the  beach  among  which 
his  life  had  been  so  nearly  sped.  The  sound  grew 
slower  and  slower  after  the  storm,  until  at  last  the  wave- 
lets of  that  sheltered  sea  lapsed  on  the  shingle  in  a  sort 
of  breathing  whisper. 

"  Peace  !  Peace  !  Great  peace !  "  they  seemed  to  say 
hour  after  hour  as  they  fell  on  his  ear. 

And  so  day  passed  and  came  again.  Long  nights, 
too,  at  first  with  hourly  tendance  and  then  presently 
without.  But  Joan  sat  no  more  with  the  young  man 
after  that  first  watch,  though  his  soul  longed  for  her,  that 
he  might  again  tell  her  that   she  was  his  brother's  wife, 

192 


Wife  and  Priest 

and  urge  her  to  do  her  duty  by  him  who  was  her  wedded 
husband.  So  Conrad  contented  himself  and  salved  his 
conscience  by  thinking  austere  thoughts  of  his  mission 
and  high  place  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  only  Catholic  and 
Apostolic  Church.  So  that  presently  he  would  rise  up 
and  seek  Werner  von  Orseln  in  order  to  persuade  him 
to  let  him  go,  that  he  might  proceed  to  Rome  at  the 
command  of  the  Holy  Father,  whose  servant  he  was. 

But  Werner  only  laughed  and  put  him  ofF. 

"When  we  have  sure  word  of  what  your  brother 
does  at  Kernsberg,  then  we  will  talk  of  this  matter.  Till 
then  it  cannot  be  hid  from  you  that  no  hostage  half  so 
valuable  can  we  keep  in  hold.  For  if  your  brother  loves 
my  Lord  Cardinal,  then  he  will  desire  to  ransom  him. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  he  fear  him,  then  we  will  keep 
your  Highness  alive  to  threaten  him,  as  the  Pope  did  with 
Djem,  the  Sultan's  brother  !  " 

So  after  many  days  it  was  permitted  to  the  Prince  to 
walk  abroad  within  the  narrow  bounds  of  the  Isle  Rugen, 
the  Wordless  Man  guarding  him  at  fifty  paces'  distance,  im- 
passive and  inevitable  as  an  ambulant  rock  of  the  seaboard. 

As  he  went  Prince  Conrad's  eyes  glanced  this  way  and 
that,  looking  for  a  means  of  escape.  Yet  they  saw  none, 
for  Werner  von  Orseln  with  his  ten  men  of  Kernsberg 
and  the  two  captains  of  Plassenburg  were  not  soldiers  to 
make  mistakes.  There  was  but  one  boat  on  the  island 
and  that  was  locked  in  a  strong  house  by  the  inner  shore, 
and  over  against  It  a  sentry  paced  night  and  day.  It 
chanced,  however,  that  upon  a  warm  and  gracious  after- 
noon, when  the  breezes  played  wanderingly  among  the 
garden  trees  before  losing  themselves  In  the  solemn  aisles 
of  the  pines  as  In  a  pillared  temple,  that  Conrad,  stepping 
painfully  westwards  along  the  beach,  arrived  at  the  place 
of  his  rescue,  and,  descending  the  steep  bank  of  shingle 
«3  193 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

to  look  for  any  traces  of  the  disaster,  came  suddenly  upon 
the  Duchess  Joan  gazing  thoughtfully  out  to  sea. 

She  turned  quickly,  hearing  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and 
at  sight  of  the  Prince-Bishop  glanced  east  and  west  along 
the  shore  as  if  meditating  retreat. 

But  the  proximity  of  Max  Ulrich  and  the  encompass- 
ing banks  of  water-worn  pebbles  convinced  her  of  the 
awkwardjiess,  if  not  impossibility,  of  escape. 

Conrad  the  prisoner  greeted  Joan  with  the  sweet 
gravity  which  had  been  characteristic  of  him  as  Conrad 
the  prince,  and  his  eyes  shone  upon  her  with  the  same 
affectionate  kindliness  that  had  dwelt  in  them  as  he 
looked  upon  his  sister  in  the  pavilion  of  the  rose-garden. 
But  after  one  glance  Joan  looked  steadily  away  across 
the  steel-grey  sea.  Her  feet  turned  instinctively  to  walk 
back  towards  the  house  and  the  Prince  turned   with  her. 

"  If  we  are  two  fellow-prisoners,"  said  Conrad,  "  we 
ought  to  see  more  of  each  other.      Is  it  not  so  ^  " 

"  That  we  may  concert  plans  of  escape  ?  "  said  Joan. 
*'You  desire  to  continue  your  pilgrimage,  I  to  return  to 
my  people,  who,  alas,  think  themselves  better  off  without 
me!" 

"I    do,  indeed,  greatly  desire    to  see   Rome,"  replied 

the  Prince.     "  The  Holy  Father  Sixtus  has  sent  me  the 

red  biretta,  and  has  commanded   me  to  come  to  Rome 

within  a  year  to  exchange  It  for  the  Cardinal's  hat  and 

.    also  to  visit  the  tombs  of  the  Apostles." 

But  Joan  was  not  listening.  She  went  on  to  speak 
of  the  matters  which  occupied  her  own  mind. 

"If  you  were  a  priest,  why  did  you  ride  in  the  great 
tournament  of  the  Blacks  and  the  Whites  at  Courtland 
not  a  year  ago  r  " 

The  Prince-Cardinal  smiled  indulgently. 

"  I  was  not  then  fledged  full  priest ;   hardly  am  I  one 

194 


Wife  and  Priest 

now,  though  thev  have  made  me  a  Prince  of  Holv 
Church.  Yet  the  tourneying  was  in  a  manner,  per- 
haps, what  her  bridal  dress  is  to  a  nun  ere  she  takes 
the  black  veil.  But,  my  Lady  Joan,  what  know  you  of 
the  strife  of  Blacks  and  Whites  at  Courtland  ?  " 

'■*■  Your  sister,  the  Princess  Margaret,  spoke  of  it,  and 
also  the  Count  von  Loen,  an  officer  of  mine,"  answered 
Joan  disingenuously. 

"  I  am  indeed  a  soldier  by  training  and  desire," 
continued  the  young  man.  "  I  have  served  in  Plassen- 
burg  and  the  Mark  by  the  side  of  Karl  the  Miller's 
Son.  In  Italy  I  have  played  at  stratagem  and  coun- 
termarch with  the  Orsini  and  Colonna.  But  in  this 
matter  the  younger  son  of  the  house  of  Courtland 
has  no  choice.  We  are  the  bulwark  of  the  Church 
alike  against  heretic  Muscovite  to  the  north  and  furious 
Hussite  to  the  south.  We  of  Courtland  must  stand  for 
the  Holy  See  along  all  the  Baltic  edges ;  and  for  this 
the  Pope  has  always  chosen  from  amongst  us  his 
representative  upon  the  Diet  of  the  Empire,  till  the 
office  has  become  almost  hereditary." 

"  Then  you  are  not  really  a  priest  ?  "  said  Joan,  fix- 
ing upon  that  part  of  the  young  man's  reply,  which 
somehow  had  the  greatest  interest  for  her. 

"  In  a  sense,  yes —  in  truth,  no.  They  say  that  the 
Pope,  in  order  to  forward  the  Church's  polity,  makes 
and  unmakes  cardinals  every  day,  some  even  for  monev 
payments;  but  these  are  doubtless  Hussite  lies.  Yet 
though  by  prescript  right  and  the  command  of  the  head 
of  the  Church  I  am  both  priest  and  bishop,  in  my  heart 
I  am  but  Prince  Conrad  of  Courtland  and  a  simple 
knight,  even  as  I   was  before." 

They  paced  along  together  with  their  eyes  on  the 
ground,  the  Wordless  Man  keeping  a  uniform  distance 

1 95 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

behind    them.      Then    the    Prince    laughed    a    strange, 
grating  laugh,  like  one  who  mocks  at  himself. 

"  By  this  time  I  ought  to  have  been  well  on  my  way 
to  the  tombs  of  the  Apostles  ;  yet  in  my  heart  I  cannot 
be  sorry,  for  —  God  forgive  me  !  —  I  had  liefer  be 
walking  this  northern  shore,  a  young  man  alone  with  a 
fair  maiden." 

"  A  priest  walking  with  his  brother's  wife  !  "  said 
Joan,  turning  quickly  upon  him  and  flashing  a  look  into 
the  eyes  that  regarded  her  with  some  wonder  at  her 
imperiousness. 

"  That  is  true,  in  a  sense,"  he  answered  ;  "  yet  am  I 
a  priest  with  no  consent  of  my  desire  —  you  a  wife 
without  love.  We  are,  at  least,  alike  in  this  —  that  we 
are  wife  and  priest  chiefly  in  name." 

"  Save  that  you  are  on  your  way  to  take  on  you  the 
duties  of  your  office,  while  I  am  more  concerned  in 
evading  mine." 

The  Cardinal  meditated  deeply. 

"  The  world  is  ill  arranged,"  he  said  slowly  ;  "  my 
brother  Louis  would  have  made  a  far  better  Churchman 
than  I.  And  strange  it  is  to  think  that  but  a  year  ago 
the  knights  and  chief  councillors  of  Courtland  came  to 
me  to  propose  that,  because  of  his  bodily  weakness,  my 
brother  should  be  deposed  and  that  I  should  take  over 
the  government  and  direction  of  affairs." 

He  went  on  without  noticing  the  colour  rising  in 
Joan's  cheek,  smiling  a  little  to  himself  and  talking  with 
more  animation. 

"  Then,  had  I  assented,  my  brother  might  have  been 
walking  here  with  tonsured  head  by  your  side,  while  I 
would  doubtless  have  been  knocking  at  the  gstcs  of 
Kernsberg,  seeking  at  the  spear's  point  for  a  runaway 
bride." 

196 


Wife  and  Priest 

"  Nay  !  "  cried  Joan,  with  sudden  vehemence  ;  "  that 
would  you  not  —  " 

And  as  suddenly  she  stopped,  stricken  dumb  by  the 
sound  of  her  own  words. 

The  Prince  turned  his  head  full  upon  her.  He  saw 
a  face  all  suffused  with  hot  blushes,  haughtiest  pride 
struggling  with  angry  tears  in  eyes  that  fairly  blazed 
upon  him,  and  a  slender  figure  drawn  up  into  an  attitude 
of  defiance,  at  sight  of  which  something  took  him 
instantly  by  the  throat. 

"You  mean  —  you  mean- — "  he  stammered,  and 
for  a  moment  was  silent.  "  For  God's  sake,  tell  me 
what  you  mean  !  " 

"I  mean  nothing  at  all!"  said  Joan,  stamping  her 
foot  in  anger. 

And  turning  upon  her  heel  she  left  him  standing  fixed 
in  wonder  and  doubt  upon  the  margin  of  the  sea. 

Then  the  wife  of  Louis,  Prince  of  Courtland,  walked 
eastward  to  the  house  upon  the  Isle  Rugen  with  her 
face  set  as  sternly  as  for  battle,  but  her  nether  lip 
quivering,  while  Conrad,  Cardinal  and  Prince  of  Holy 
Church,  paced  slowly  to  the  west  with  a  bitter  and  down- 
cast look  upon  his  ordinarily  so  sunny  countenance. 

For  Fate  had  been  exceeding  cruel  to  these  two. 


197 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE    RED    LION    FLIES    AT    KERNSBERG 

AND  meanwhile  right  haughtily  flew  the  red  lion 
upon  the  citadel  of  Kernsberg.  Never  had  the 
Lady  Duchess,  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  approven  her- 
self so  brave  and  determined.  In  her  forester's  dress  of 
green  velvet,  with  the  links  of  chain  body-armour  glint- 
ing beneath  its  frogs  and  taches,  she  went  everywhere 
on  foot.  At  all  times  of  the  day  she  was  to  be  seen  at 
the  half-moons  wherein  the  cannon  were  fixed,  or  on 
horseback  scouring  the  defenced  posts  along  the  city 
wall.  She  seemed  to  know  neither  fear  nor  fatigue,  and 
the  noise  of  cheering  followed  her  about  the  little  hill 
city  like  her  shadow. 

Three  there  were  who  knew  the  truth  —  Peter  Balta, 
Alt  Pikker,  and  George  the  Hussite.  And  when  the 
guards  were  set,  the  lamps  lit,  and  the  bars  drawn,  a 
stupid  Hohensteiner  set  on  watch  at  the  turnpike  foot 
with  command  to  let  none  pass  upon  his  life  —  then  at 
last  the  lithe  young  Sparhawk  would  undo  his  belt  with 
huge  refreshful  gusting  of  air  into  his  lungs,  amid  the 
scarcely  subdued  laughter  of  the  captains  of  the  host. 

"  Lord  Peter  of  the  Keys,"  Von  Lynar  would  cry, 
"  what  it  is  to  unbutton  !  'Tis  very  well  to  admire  it  in 
our  pretty  Joan,  but  'fore  the  Lord,  I  would  give  a 
thousand  crowns  if  she  were  not  so  slender.  It  cuts  a 
man  in  two  to  get  within  such  a  girdle.     Only  Prince 

198 


The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg 

Wasp  could  make  shift  to  fit  it.      Give  me  a  goblet  of 
ale,  fellows." 

"  Nay,  lad  —  mead  !  Mead  of  ten  years  alone  must 
thou  have,  and  little  enough  of  that !  Ale  will  make 
thee  fat  as  mast-fed  pigs." 

"  Or  stay,"  amended  George  the  Hussite  ;  "  mead  is 
not  comely  drink  for  a  maid  —  I  will  get  thee  a  little 
canary  and  water,  scented  with  millefleurs  and  rosemary." 

"  Check  your  fooling  and  help  to  unlace  me,  all  of 
you,"  quoth  the  Sparhawk.  "  Now  there  is  but  a  silken 
cord  betwixt  me  and  Paradise.  But  it  prisons  me  like 
iron  bars.  Ah,  there  "  —  he  blew  a  great  breath,  filling 
and  emptying  his  lungs  with  huge  content  —  "I  wonder 
why  we  men  breathe  with  our  stomachs  and  women  with 
their  chests  !  " 

"  Know  you  not  that  much  ?  *  cried  Alt  Pikker. 
"  '  Tis  because  a  man's  life  is  in  his  stomach ;  and  as  for 
women,  most  part  have  neither  heart,  stomach,  nor 
bowels  of  mercy,  —  and  so  breathe  w.'*h  whatever  it  liketh 
them  !  " 

"  No  ribaldry  in  a  lady's  presence,,  or  thou  shalt  have 
none  of  these,  either  !  "  quoth  the  false  Joan  ;  "  help  me 
off  with  this  thrice-accursed  chain-mail.  I  am  pocked 
from  head  to  heel  like  a  Swiss  mercenary  late  come  from 
Venice.  Every  ring  in  this  foul  devil's  jerkin  is  im- 
printed an  inch  deep  on  my  hide,  and  itches  worse  .than 
a  hundred  beggars  at  a  church  door.  Ah  !  better-  better. 
Yet  not  well!  I  had  thought  our  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand  a  strapping  wench,  but  now,  a  hop-pole  is  an  abbot 
to  her  when  one  comes  to  wear  her  carapace  and  justau- 
corps  !  " 

"  How  went  matters  to-day  on  your  side  ?  "  he  went 
on,  speaking  to  Balta,  all  the  while  chafing  the  calves  of 
his  legs  and   rubbing   his    pinched   feet,  having   first   en- 

199 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Vi^rapped  himself  in  a  great  mantle  of  red  and  gold  which 
erstwhile  had  belonged  to  Henry  the  Lion. 

"On  the  whole,  not  ill,"  said  Peter  Balta.  "The 
Muscovites,  indeed,  drove  in  our  outoosts.  but  could  not 
come  nearer  than  a  bowshot  from  the  northern  gate,  ^^ 
galled  them  so  with  our  culverins  and  bombardels." 

"  Duke  George's  famous  Fat  Peg  could  not  have  done 
better  than  our  little  leathern  vixens,"  said  Alt  Pikker, 
rubbing  his  grey  badger's  brush  contentedly.  "  Gott,  if 
we  had  only  provender  and  water  we  might  keep  them  out 
of  the  city  for  ever  !  But  in  a  week  they  will  certainly 
have  cut  off  our  river  and  sent  it  down  their  new  channel, 
and  the  wells  are  not  enough  for  half  the  citizens,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  cattle  and  horses.  This  is  a  great  fuss  to 
make  about  a  young  jackanapes  of  a  Jutlander  like  you, 
Master  Maurice  von  Lynar,  Count  von  Loen  —  wife  of 
his  Highness  Prince  Louis  of  Courtland.  Ha!  ha! 
ha!" 

"  I  would  have  you  know,  sirrah,"  cried  the  Sparhawk, 
"  that  if  you  do  not  treat  me  as  your  liege  lady  ought  to 
be  treated,  I  will  order  you  to  the  deepest  dungeon  be- 
neath the  castle  moat !  Come  and  kiss  my  hand  this 
instant,  both  of  you  !  " 

"  Promise  not  to  box  our  ears,  and  we  will,"  said 
Alt  Pikker  and  George  the  Hussite  together. 

"  Well,  I  will  let  you  off  this  time,"  said  Maurice 
royally,  stretching  his  limbs  luxuriously  and  putting  one 
hosened  foot  on  the  mantel-shelf  as  high  as  his  head. 
"  Heigh-ho  !  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  last,  and  when 
we  must  surrender." 

"  Prince  Louis  must  send  his  Muscovites  back  beyond 
the  Alia  first,  and  then  we  will  speak  with  him  concern- 
ing giving  him  up  his  wife!  "  quoth  Peter  Balta. 

"  I   wonder  what  the  craven    loon  will  do  with  her 

200 


The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg 

when  he  gets  her,"  said  Alt  Pikker.  "You  must  not 
surrender  in  your  girdle-brace  and  ring-mail,  my  liege 
lady,  or  you  will  have  to  sleep  with  them  on.  It  would 
not  be  seemly  to  have  to  call  up  a  dozen  lusty  men-at- 
arms  to  help  untruss  her  ladyship  the  Princess  of  Court- 
land  !  " 

"  Perhaps  your  goodman  will  kiss  you  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  palace  as  a  token  of  reconciliation  !  " 
cackled  Hussite  George. 

"If  he  does,  I  will  rip  him  up!  "  growled  Maurice, 
aghast  at  the  suggestion.  "  But  there  is  no  doubt  that 
at  the  best  I  shall  be  between  the  thills  when  they  get 
me  once  safe  in  Courtland.  To  ride  the  wooden  horse 
all  day  were  a  pleasure  to  it !  " 

But  presently  his  face  lighted  up  and  he  murmured 
some  words  to  himself — 

"  Yet,  after  all,  there  is  always  the  Princess  Margaret 
there.  I  can  confide  in  her  when  the  worst  comes. 
She  will  help  me  in  my  need  —  and,  what  is  better  still, 
she  may  even  kiss  me  !  " 

And,  spite  of  gloomy  anticipations,  his  ears  tingled 
with  happy  expectancy,  when  he  thought  of  opportuni- 
ties of  intimate  speech  with  the  lady  of  his  heart. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  face  of  brave  words  and  braver 
deeds,  provisions  waxed  scarce  and  dear  in  Castle  Kerns- 
berg, and  in  the  town  below  women  grew  gaunt  and 
hollow-cheeked.  Then  the  children  acquired  eyes  that 
seemed  to  stand  out  of  hollow  purple  sockets.  Last  of 
all,  the  stout  burghers  grew  thin.  And  all  three  began 
to  dream  of  the  days  when  the  good  farmfolk  of  the 
blackened  country  down  below  them,  where  now  stood 
the  leafy  lodges  of  the  Muscovite  and  the  white  tents  of 
the  Courtlanders,  used  to  come  into  Kernsberg  to  market, 

20I 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

the  great  solemn-eyed  oxen  drawing  carts  full  of  country 
sausages,  and  brown  meal  fresh  from  the  mill  to  bake 
the  wholesome  bread  —  or  when  the  stout  marketwomen 
brought  In  the  lappered  milk  and  the  butter  and  curds. 
So  the  starving  folk  dreamed  and  dreamed  and  woke, 
and  cried  out  curses  on  them  that  had  waked  them, 
saying,  "  Plague  take  the  hands  that  pulled  me  back  to 
this  gutter  dog's  life  !  For  I  was  just  a-sitting  down 
to  dinner  with  a  haunch  of  venison  for  company,  and 
such  a  lordly  trout,  buttered,  with  green  sauce  all  over 
him,  a  loaf  of  white  bread,  crisp  and  crusty  at  my  elbow^ 
and  —  Holy  Saint  Matthew  !  —  such  a  noble  flagon  of 
Rhenish,  holding  ten  pints  at  the  least." 

About  this  time  the  Sparhawk  began  to  take  counsel 
with  himself,  and  the  issue  of  his  meditations  the  historian 
must  now  relate. 

It  was  in  the  outer  chamber  of  the  Duchess  Joan, 
which  looks  to  the  north,  that  the  three  captains  usually 
sat  —  burly  Peter  Balta,  stifF-haired,  dry-faced,  keen- 
eyed  —  Alt  Pikker,  lean  and  leathery,  the  life  humour 
within  him  all  gone  to  fighting  juice,  his  limbs  mere 
bone  and  muscle,  a  certain  acrid  and  caustic  wit  keeping 
the  corners  of  his  lips  on  the  wicker,  and,  a  little  back 
from  these  two,  George  the  Hussite,  a  smaller  man, 
very  solemn  even  when  he  was  making  others  laugh, 
but  nevertheless  with  a  proud,  high  look,  a  stiff  upper 
lip,  and  a  moustache  so  huge  that  he  could  tie  the  ends 
behind  his  head  on  a  windy  day. 

These  three  had  been  speaking  together  at  the  wide, 
low  window  from  which  one  can  see  the  tight  little  red- 
roofed  town  of  Kernsdorf  and  the  green  Kernswater 
lying  like  a  bright,  looped  ribbon  at  the  foot  of  the  hills. 

To  them  entered  the  Sparhawk,  a  settled  frown  of 
gloom  upon  his  brow,  and  the  hunger  which  he  shared 

202 


The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg 

equal'iy  with  the  others  already  sharpening  the  falcon 
hook  of  his  nose  and  whitening  his  thin  nostrils. 

At  sight  of  him  the  three  heads  drew  apart,  and  Alt 
Piklcer  began  to  speak  of  the  stars  that  were  rising  in 
the  eastern  dusk. 

"The  dog-star  is  white,"  he  said  didactically.  "In 
my  schooldays  I  used  to  read  in  the  Latin  tongue  that  it 
was  red  !  " 

But  by  their  interest  in  such  a  matter  the  Sparhawk 
knew  that  they  had  been  speaking  of  far  other  things 
than  stars  before  he  opened  the  door.  For  little  George 
the  Hussite  pulled  his  pandour  moustaches  and  muttered, 
"  A  pox  on  the  dog-star  and  the  foul  Latin  tongue. 
They  are  only  fit  for  the  gabble  of  fat-fed  monks. 
Moreover,  you  do  not  see  it  now,  at  any  rate.  For  me, 
I  would  I  were  back  under  the  Bohemian  pine-trees, 
where  the  very  wine  smacks  of  resin,  and  where  there 
is  a  sheep  (your  own  or  another's,  it  matters  not 
greatly)  tied  at  every  true  Hussite's  door." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  cried  the  Sparhawk.  "  Do  not 
deceive  me.  You  were  none  of  you  talking  of  stars 
when  I  came  up  the  stairs.  For  1  heard  Peter  Balta's 
voice  say,  '  By  God  !  it  must  come  to  it,  and  soon  !  " 
And  you,  Hussite  George,  answered  him,  'Six  days  will 
settle  it.'  What  do  you  keep  from  me  ?  Out  with  it  ! 
Speak  up,  like  three  little  men  !  " 

It  was  Alt  Pikker  who  first  found  words  to  answer. 

"  We  spoke  indeed  of  the  stars,  and  said  it  was  six 
days  till  the  moon  should  be  gone,  and  that  the  time 
would  then  be  ripe  for  a  sally  by  the — by  the  — 
Plassenburg  gate  !  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  cried  the  Sparhawk.  "  Lie  to  your 
father  confessor,  not  to  me.  I  am  not  a  purblind  fool. 
I  have  ears,  long  enough,  it   is   true,  but    at   least  they 


203 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

answer  to  hear  withal.  You  spoke  of  the  wells,  I  tell 
you,  I  saw  your  heads  move  apart  as  I  entered,  and  then, 
forsooth,  that  dotard  Alt  Pikker  (who  ran  away  in  his 
youth  from  a  monk's  cloister  school  with  the  nun  that 
taught  them  stocking-mending)  must  needs  furbish  up 
some  scraps  of  Latin  and  begin  to  prate  about  dog-stars 
red  and  dog-stars  white.  Faugh  !  Open  your  mouths 
like  men,  set  truthful  hearts  behind  them,  and  let  me 
hear  the  worst  !  " 

Nevertheless  the  three  captains  of  Kernsberg  were 
silent  a  while,  for  heaviness  was  upon  their  souls.  Then 
Peter  Balta  blurted  out,  "  God  help  us  !  There  is  but 
ten  days'  more  provender  in  the  city,  the  river  is  turned, 
and  the  wells  are  almost  dried  up  !  " 

After  this  the  Sparhawk  sat  awhile  on  the  low  window 
seat,  watching  the  twinkling  fires  of  the  Muscovites  and 
listening  to  the  hum  of  the  town  beneath  the  Castle  — 
all  now  sullen  and  subdued,  no  merry  hucksters  about 
the  church  porches,  no  loitering  lads  and  lasses  linking 
arms  and  bartering  kisses  in  the  dusky  corners  of  the 
linen  market,  no  clattering  of  hammers  in  the  armourers' 
bazaar  —  a  muffled  buzzing  only,  as  of  men  talking  low 
to  themselves  of  bitter  memories  and  yet  dismaller 
expectations. 

"  I  have  it  I  "  said  the  Sparhawk  at  last,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  misty  plain  of  night,  with  its  twinkling  pin-points 
of  fire  which  were  the  watchfires  of  the  enemy. 

The  three  men  stirred  a  little  to  indicate  attention, 
but  did   not  speak. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  "  and  do  not  interrupt.  You 
must  deliver  me  up.  I  am  the  cause  of  war  —  I,  the 
Duchess  Joan.  Hear  you  !  I  have  a  husband  who 
makes  war  because  I  contemn  his  bed  and  board.  He 
has  summoned  the  Muscovite  to  help  him  to  woo  me. 

204 


The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg 

Well,  if  I  am  to  be  given  up,  it  is  for  us  to  stipulate 
that  the  armies  be  withdrawn,  first  beyond  the  Alia,  and 
then  as  far  as  Courtland.  I  will  go  with  them  ;  they 
will  not  find  me  out  —  at  least,  not  till  they  are  back  in 
their  own  land." 

"  What  matter  ?  "  cried  Balta.     "  They  would  return 
as  soon  as  they  discovered  the  cheat." 

"  Let  us  sink  or  swim  together,"  said  Hussite  George. 
"  We  want  no  talk  of  surrender  !  " 

But  grey,  dry  Alt  Pikker  said  nothing,  weighing  all 
with   a  judicial  mind. 

"  No,  they  would  not  come  back,"  said  the  Sparhawk ; 
"  or,  at  worst,  we  would  have  time  —  that  is,  you 
would  have  time  —  to  revictual  Kernsberg,  to  fill  the 
tanks  and  reservoirs,  to  summon  in  the  hillmen.  They 
would  soon  learn  that  there  had  been  no  Joan  Vv'ithin 
the  city  but  the  one  they  had  carried  back  with  them 
to  Courtland.  Plassenburg,  slow  to  move,  would  have 
time  to  bring  up  its  men  to  protect  its  borders  from 
the  Muscovite.  All  good  chances  are  possible  if  only 
I  am  out  of  the  way.  Surrender  me,  but  by  private 
treaty,  and  not  till  you  have  seen  them  safe  across  the 
fords  of  the  Alia  !  " 

"  Nay,  God's  truth  !  "  cried  the  three,  "  that  we  will 
not  do  !  They  would  kill  you  by  slow  torture  as  soon 
as  they  found  out  that  they  had  been  tricked." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Sparhawk  slowly,  "  but  by  that 
time  they  luould  have  been  tricked." 

Then  Alt  Pikker  spoke  in  his  turn  — 

"  Men,"    he   said,  "  this   Dane   is   a  man  —  a  better 
than  any  of  us.     There  is  wisdom  in  what  he  says.     Ye 
have  heard  in  church  how  priests  preach  concerning  One 
who  died  for  the  people.      Here  is  one  ready  to  die  —  ii 
no  better  may  be  —  for  the  people  !  " 

205 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  And  for  our  Duchess  Joan  !  "  said  the  Sparhawk, 
taking  his  hat  from  his  head  at  the  name  of  his  lady. 

"  Our  Lady  Joan  !  Ay,  that  is  it !  "  said  the  old 
man.  "  We  would  all  gladly  die  in  battle  for  our  lady. 
We  have  done  more  —  we  have  risked  our  own  honour 
and  her  favour  in  order  to  convey  her  away  from  these 
dangers.  Let  the  boy  be  given  up ;  and  that  he  go  not 
alone  without  fit  attendance,  I  will  go  with  him  as  his 
chamberlain." 

The  other  two  men,  Peter  Balta  and  George  the 
Hussite,  did  not  answer  for  a  space,  but  sat  pondering 
Alt  Pikker's  counsel.  It  was  George  the  Hussite  who 
took  up  the  parable. 

'"  I  do  not  see  why  you,  Alt  Pikker,  and  you,  Maurice 
the  Dane,  should  hold  such  a  pother  about  what  you  are 
ready  to  do  for  our  Lady  Joan.  So  are  we  all  every 
whit  as  ready  and  willing  as  you  can  be  j  and  I  think,  if 
any  are  to  be  given  up,  we  ought  to  draw  lots  for  who 
it  shall  be.  You  fancy  yourselves  overmuch,  both  of 
you  !  " 

The  Sparhawk  laughed. 

"  Great  tun-barrelled  dolt,"  he  said,  clapping  Peter  on 
the  back,  "  how  sweet  and  convincing  it  would  be  to  see 
you,  or  that  ale-faced  knave  George  there,  dressed  up  in 
the  girdle-brace  and  steel  corset  of  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand  !  And  how  would  you  do  as  to  your  beard  ? 
Are  you  smooth  as  an  egg  on  the  cheeks,  as  I  am  ?  It 
would  be  rare  to  have  a  Duchess  Joan  with  an  inch  of 
blue-black  stubble  on  her  chin  by  the  time  she  neared 
the  gates  of  Courtland  !  Nav,  lads,  whoever  stays  —  I 
must  go.  In  this  matter  of  brides  I  have  qualities  (how 
I  got  them  I  know  not)  that  the  best  of  you  cannot  lay 
claim  to.  Do  you  draw  lots  with  Alt  Pikker  there,  an 
you  will,  as  to  who  shall  accompany  me,  but  leave  Joan 

206 


The  Red  Lion  Flies  at  Kernsberg 

of  the  Sword  Hand  to  settle  her  own  little  differences 
with  him  who  is  her  husband  by  the  blessing  of  Holy 
Church." 

And  he  threw  up  his  heels  upon  the  table  and  plaited 
his  knees  one  above  the  other. 

Then  it  was  Alt  Pikker's  time. 

"  Peter  Balta,  and  you,  George  the  Heretic,  listen," 
he  cried,  vehemently  emphasising  the  points  on  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  "  You,  Peter,  have  a  wife  —  or  what 
is  as  good  (I  have  not  seen  your  marriage  lines)  —  and 
your  Marion  —  how  would  she  fare  without  you  ?  Have 
you  laid  by  a  stocking-foot  full  of  gold  ?  Does  it  hang 
inside  your  chimney  ?  I  trow  not.  Well,  you  at  least 
must  bide  and  earn  your  pay,  for  Marion's  sake.  I  have 
neither  kith  nor  kin,  neither  sweetheart  nor  wife,  cove- 
nanted nor  uncovenanted.  And  for  you,  George,  you 
are  a  heretic,  and  if  they  burn  you  alive  or  let  out  the 
red  sap  at  your  neck,  you  will  go  straight  to  hell-fire. 
Think  of  it,  George !  I,  on  the  other  hand,  am  a  true 
man,  and  after  a  paltry  year  or  two  in  purgatory  (just 
for  the  experience)  will  go  straight  to  the  bosom  of 
patriarchs  and  apostles,  along  with  our  holy  father  the 
Pope,  and  our  elder  brothers  the  Cardinals  Borgia  and 
Delia  Rovere  !  " 

"  You  talk  a  deal  of  nothings  with  your  mouth,"  said 
George  the  Hussite.  "  It  is  true  that  I  hold  not,  as  you 
do,  that  every  dishclout  in  a  church  is  the  holy  veil,  and 
every  old  snag  of  wood  with  a  nail  in  't  a  veritable  piece 
of  the  true  cross.  But  I  would  have  you  know  that  I 
can  do  as  much  for  my  lady  as  any  one  of  you  —  nay, 
and  more,  too,  Alt  Pikker.  For  a  good  Hussite  is  afraid 
neither  of  purgatory  not  yet  of  hell-fire,  because,  if  he 
should  chance  to  die,  he  will  go,  without  troubling 
either,  straight  to  the  abode  of  the  martyrs  and  confes- 

?07 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

sors  who  have  been  judged  worthy  to  withstand  and  to 
conquer." 

"  And  as  to  what  you  said  concerning  Marion," 
nodded  Peter  Balta  truculently,  "  she  is  a  soldier's  wife 
and  would  cut  her  pretty  throat  rather  than  stand  in  the 
way  of  a  man's  advancement !  " 

"  Specially  knowing  that  so  pretty  a  wench  as  she  is 
could  get  a  better  husband  to-morrow  an  it  liked  her  !  " 
commented  Alt  Pikker  drily. 

"  Well,"  cried  the  Sparhawk,  "  still  your  quarrel, 
gentlemen.  At  all  events  the  thing  is  settled.  The 
only  question  is  when  F  How  many  days'  water  is  there 
in  the  wells  ?  " 

Said  Peter  Balta,  "  I  will  go  and  see." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    GREETING    OF    THE    PRINCESS    MARGARET 

THEY  were  making  terms  concerning  treaty  of  de- 
livering thus :  — 

"  When  the  last  Muscovite  has  crossed  the  Alia, 
when  the  men  of  Courtland  stand  ready  to  follow  — 
then,  and  not  sooner,  we  will  deliver  up  our  Lady  Joan. 
For  this  we  shall  receive  from  you,  Louis,  Prince  of 
Courtland,  fifty  hogsheads  of  wine,  six  hundred  wagon- 
loads  of  good  wheat,  and  the  four  great  iron  cannon  now 
standino;  before  the  Stralsund  Gate.  This  all  to  be 
completed  before  we  of  Kernsberg  hand  our  Lady  over." 

"  It  is  a  thing  agreed,"  answered  Louis  of  Courtland, 
who  longed  to  be  gone,  and,  above  all,  to  get  his  Mus- 
covite allies  out  of  his  country.  For  not  only  did  they 
take  all  the  best  of  everything  in  the  field,  but,  like 
locusts,  they  spread  themselves  over  the  rear,  carrying 
plunder  and  rapine  through  the  territories  of  Courtland 
itself,  treating  it,  indeed,  as  so  much  conquered  country, 
so  that  men  were  daily  deserting  his  colours  in  order  to 
go  back  to  protect  their  wives  and  daughters  from  the 
Cossacks  of  the  Don  and  the  Strelits  of  Little  Russia. 

Moreover,  he  wanted  that  proud  wench,  his  wife. 
Without  her  as  his  prisoner,  he  dared  not  go  back  to  his 
capital  city.  He  had  sworn  an  oath  before  the  people. 
For  the  rest,  Kernsberg  itself  could  wait.  Without  a 
head  it  would  soon  fall  in,  and,  besides,  he  flattered  him- 
14  2og 


[oan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

self  that  he  would  so  sway  and  influence  the  Duchess, 
when  he  once  had  her  safe  in  his  palace  by  the  mouths 
of  Alia,  that  she  would  repent  her  folly,  and  at  no  distant 
day  sit  knee  by  knee  with  him  on  his  throne  of  state  in 
the  audience  hall  when  the  suitors  came  to  plead  con- 
cerning the  law. 

And  even  his  guest  Prince  Ivan  was  complaisant, 
standing  behind  Louis's  chair  and  smiling  to  himself. 

"  Brother  of  mine,"  he  would  say,  "  I  came  to  help 
you  to  your  wife.  It  is  your  own  affair  how  you  take 
her  and  what  you  do  with  her  when  you  get  her.  For 
me,  as  soon  as  you  have  her  safe  within  the  summer 
palace,  and  have  given  me,  according  to  promise,  my 
heart's  desire,  your  sister  Margaret,  so  soon  will  I  depart 
for  Moscow.  My  father,  indeed,  sends  daily  posts 
praying  my  instant  despatch,  for  he  only  waits  my 
return  to  launch  a  host  upon  his  enemy  the  King  of 
Polognia." 

And  Prince  Louis,  reaching  over  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
patted  his  friend's  small,  sweet-scented  hand,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  most  unselfish  and  generous 
assistance. 

Thus  the  leaguer  of  Hohenstein  attained  its  object. 
Prince  Louis  had  not,  it  is  true,  stormed  the  heights  of 
Kernsberg  as  he  had  sworn  to  do.  He  had,  in  fact,  left 
behind  him  to  the  traitors  who  delivered  their  Duchess 
a  large  portion  of  his  stores  and  munitions  of  war. 
Nevertheless,  he  returned  proud  in  heart  to  his  capital 
city.  For  in  the  midst  of  his  most  faithful  body  of 
cavalry  rode  the  young  Duchess  Joan,  Princess  of  Court- 
land,  on  a  white  Neapolitan  barb,  with  reins  that  jingled 
with  silver  bells  and  rosettes  of  ribbon  on  the  bosses  of 
her  harness. 

The    beautiful     prisoner    appeared,    as    was    natural^ 

2IO 


Greeting  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

somewhat  wan  and  anxious.  She  was  clad  in  a  close- 
fitting  gown  of  pale  blue,  with  inch-wide  broidering  of 
gold,  laced  in  front,  and  with  a  train  which  drooped 
almost  to  the  ground.  Over  this  a  cloak  of  deeper  blue 
was  worn,  with  a  hood  in  which  the  dark,  proud 
head  of  the  Princess  nestled  half  hidden  and  half  revealed. 
The  folk  who  crowded  to  see  her  go  by  took  this  for 
coquetry.  She  rode  with  only  the  one  councillor  by  her 
who  had  dared  to  share  her  captivity  —  one  Alt  Pikker, 
a  favourite  veteran  of  her  little  army,  and  the  master- 
swordsman  (they  said)  who  had  instructed  her  in  the  use 
of  arms. 

No  indignity  had  been  offered  to  her.  Indeed,  as 
great  honour  was  done  her  as  was  possible  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. Prince  Louis  had  approached  and  led  her 
by  the  hand  to  the  steed  which  awaited  her  at  the  fords 
of  the  Alia.  The  soldiers  of  Courtland  elevated  their 
spears  and  the  trumpets  brayed  a  salute.  Then,  without 
a  word  spoken,  her  husband  had  bowed  and  withdrawn 
as  a  gentleman  should.  Prince  Ivan  then  approached, 
and  on  one  knee  begged  the  privilege  of  kissing  her  fair 
hand. 

The  traitors  of  Kernsberg,  who  had  bartered  their 
mistress  for  several  tuns  of  Rhenish,  could  not  meet  her 
eye,  but  stood  gloomily  apart  with  faces  sad  and  down- 
cast, and  from  the  town  came  the  sound  of  women 
weeping.  Only  George  the  Hussite  stood  by  with  a 
smile  on  his  face  and  his  thumbs  stuck  in  his  waist- 
band. 

The  captive  Princess  spoke  not  at  all,  as  was  indeed 
natural  and  fitting.  A  woman  conquered  does  not 
easily  forgive  those  who  have  humbled  her  pride.  She 
talked  little  even  to  Alt  Pikker,  and  then  only  apart. 
The  nearest  guide,  who  had  been  chosen  because  of  his 

211 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

knowledge  of  German,  could  not  hear  a  murmur.  With 
bowed  head  and  eyes  that  dwelt  steadily  on  the  undulat- 
ing mane  of  her  white  barb,  Joan  swayed  her  graceful 
body  and  compressed  her  lips  like  one  captured  but  in 
no  wise  vanquished.  And  the  soldiers  of  the  army  of 
Courtland  (those  of  them  who  were  married)  whispered 
one  to  another,  noting  her  demeanour,  "  Our  good 
Prince  is  but  at  the  beginning  of  his  troubles  5  for,  by 
Brunhild,  did  you  ever  see  such  a  wench  ?  They  say- 
she  can  engage  any  two  fencers  of  her  army  at  one 
time  i " 

"  Her  eye  is  like  a  rapier  thrust,"  whispered  another. 
"Just  now  I  went  near  her  to  look,  and  she  arched  an 
eyebrow  at  me,  no  more,  and  lo !  I  went  cold  at  my 
marrow  as  if  1  felt  the  blue  steel  stand  out  at  my  back- 
bone." 

"  It  is  the  hunger  and  the  anger  that  have  done  it,'* 
said  another  ;  "  and,  indeed,  small  wonder  !  She  looked! 
not  so  pale  when  I  saw  her  ride  along  Courtland  Street 
that  day  to  the  Don  ^  the  day  she  was  to  be  married. 
Her  face  was  like  that  of  any  saint  in  chapel  when  the 
sun  shines  through  the  stained  glass  in  the  western  win- 
dows. Then  her  eyes  did  not  pierce  you  through,  but 
instead  they  shone  with  their  own  proper  light  and  were 
very  gracious," 

"  A  strange  wench,  a  most  strange  wench,"  responded 
the  first,  "  so  soon  to  change  her  mind." 

"  Ha  !  "  laughed  his  companion,  "  little  do  you  know 
if  you  say  so  !  She  is  a  woman  —  small  doubt  of  that ! 
Besides,  is  she  not  a  princess  ?  and  wherefore  should  our 
Prince's  wife  not  change  her  mind  ?  " 

They  entered  Courtland,  and  the  flags  flew  gaily  as 
on  the  day  of  wedding.  The  drums  beat,  and  the  popu- 
lace drank  from  spigots   that  foamed  red  wine.     Then 

212 


Greeting  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

the  Prince  Louis  came,  with  hat  in  hand,  and  begged 
that  the  Princess  Joan  would  graciously  allow  him  to 
ride  beside  her  through  the  streets.  He  spoke  respect- 
fully, and  Joan  could  only  bow  her  head  in  acqui- 
escence. 

Thus  they  came  to  the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  the 
people  shouting  behind  them.  There,  on  the  steps, 
gowned  in  white  and  gold,  with  bare  head  overrun  with 
ringlets,  stood  the  Princess  Margaret  among  her  women. 
And  at  sight  of  her  the  heart  of  the  false  princess  gave 
a  mighty  bound,  as  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  drew  her 
hood  closer  about  her  face  and  tried  to  remember  in 
what  fashion  a  lady  dismounted  from  her  horse. 

"  My  lady,"  said  Prince  Louis,  standing  hat  in  hand 
before  her  barb,  "  I  commit  you  to  the  care  of  my  sister, 
the  Princess  Margaret,  knowing  the  ancient  friendship 
that  there  is  between  you.  She  will  speak  for  me,  know- 
ing all  my  will,  and  being  also  herself  shortly  contracted 
in  marriage  to  my  good  friend,  Prince  Ivan  of  MuscTvy, 
Open  your  hearts  to  each  other,  1  pray  you,  and  be  as- 
sured that  no  evil  or  indignity  shall  befall  one  whom  I 
admire  as  the  fairest  of  women  and  honour  as  my  ''"ed- 
ded  wife  !  " 

Joan  made  him  no  answer,  but  leaped  from  her  horse 
without  waiting  for  the  hand  of  Alt  Pikker,  which  rr'any 
thought  strange.  In  another  moment  the  arms  of  the 
Princess  Margaret  were  about  her  neck,  and  that  im- 
pulsive princess  was  kissing  her  heartily  on  cheek  and 
lips,  talking  all  the  while. 

"  Ouick  !  Let  us  get  in  from  all  these  stadrg, 
stupid  men.  You  are  to  lodge  in  my  palace  so  long 
as  it  lists  you.  My  brother  hath  promised  it.  V  here 
are  your  women  ?  Let  them  come  and  untire  ^ou 
speedily  !  " 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  I  have  no  women,"  said  Joan,  in  a  low  voice,  blush- 
ing meanwhile  ;  "  they  would  not  accompany  a  poor 
betrayed  prisoner  from  Kernsberg  to  a  prison  cell !  " 

"  Prison  cell,  indeed  !  You  will  find  that  I  have  a 
very  comfortable  dungeon  ready  for  you  !  Come  —  my 
maidens  will  assist  you !  Hasten  —  pray  do  make 
haste  !  "  cried  the  impetuous  little  lady,  her  arm  close 
about  the  tall  Joan. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  the  false  bride,  with  some  re- 
luctance," but  I  am  well  accustomed  to  wait  on  myself." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  wonder,"  cried  the  ready  Princess  ; 
"  maids  are  vexatious  creatures,  well  called  '  tirewomen.' 
But  come  —  see  the  beautiful  rooms  I  have  chosen  for 
vou  !  They  were  once  my  brother  Conrad's,  and  quite 
near  mine.  He  has  gone  away  to  Rome  to  visit  his 
Holiness  the  Pope,  who  has  made  him  a  cardinal.  Make 
haste  and  take  off  your  cloak,  and  then  I  will  come  to 
you  ;  I  am  fairly  dying  to  talk.  Ah,  why  did  you  not 
tell  me  that  day  ?  That  was  ill  done.  I  would  have 
ridden  so  gladly  with  you.  It  was  a  glorious  thing  to 
do,  and  has  made  you  famous  all  over  the  world,  they 
say.  I  have  been  thinking  ever  since  what  I  could  do  to 
be  upsides  with  you  and  make  them  talk  about  me.  I 
will  give  them  a  surprise  one  day  that  shall  be  great  as 
yours.  But  perhaps  I  shall  not  wait  till  I  am  married 
to  do  it." 

And  she  took  her  friend  by  the  hand  and  with  a  light- 
hearted,  skipping  motion  convoyed  her  to  her  summer 
palace,  kissed  her  again  at  the  door,  and  shut  her  in  with 
another  imperious  adjuration  to  be  speedy. 

"I  will  give  you  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  she  cried,  as 
she  lingered  a  moment ;  "  then  I  will  come  to  hear  all 
your  story,  every  word,  and  you  must  take  a  long  time 
in  the  telling.      There  will  be  so  many  strange  things  to 

214 


Greeting  of  the  Princess  Margaret 

tell,  and  I  can  hardly  wait  a  moment  longer  to  hear 
them." 

Then  the  false  Princess,  her  heart  beating  wildly  and 
the  thrill  of  Margaret's  last  caressing  touch  yet  on  her 
lips,  staggered  rather  than  walked  to  a  chair,  for  brain 
and  eye  were  reeling. 

"  God  wot,"  she  murmured ;  "  strange  things  to  hear, 
indeed !  Sweet  lady,  you  little  know  how  strange ! 
This  is  ten  thousand  times  a  straiter  place  to  be  in  than 
when  I  played  the  Count  von  Loen.  Ah,  women, 
women,  what  you  bring  a  poor,  innocent  man  to !  " 

And  so,  without  unhooking  her  cloak  or  throwing 
back  the  hood,  this  sadly  bewildered  bride  sat  down  and 
tried  to  select  any  hopeful  line  of  action  out  of  the 
whirling  chaos  of  her  thoughts. 

And  even  as  she  sat  there  a  knock  came  sharply 
at  the  door. 


tig 


CHAPTER   XXX 
love's  clear  eye 

"    A  ^^  now,"  cried  the  Princess   Margaret,  clapping 

•^  -^  her  hands  together  impulsively,  "  now  at  last  I 
shall  hear  everything.  Why  you  went  away,  and  who 
gave  you  up,  and  about  the  fighting.  Ugh  !  the  traitors, 
to  betray  you  after  all  !  I  would  have  their  heads  off — 
and  all  to  save  their  wretched  town  and  the  lives  of  some 
score  fat  burghers  !  " 

So  far  the  Princess  Margaret  had  never  once  looked  at 
the  Sparhawk,  in  his  borrowed  plumage,  as  he  stood  un- 
easily enough  by  the  fireplace  of  the  Summer  Palace, 
leaning;  an  elbow  on  the  mantelshelf.  But  now  she 
turned  quickly  to  her  guest. 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  !  "  she  cried,  running  to  Maurice 
and  throwing  her  arms  about  her  false  sister-in-law  in  an 
impulsive  little  hug.  "  I  think  you  are  so  brave.  Is 
my  hair  sadly  tangled  ?  Tell  me  truly.  The  wind 
hath  tumbled  it  about  mine  eyes.  Not  that  it  matters 
—  with  you  !  " 

She  said  the  last  words  with  a  little  sigh. 

Then  the  Princess  Margaret  tripped  across  the  pol- 
ished floor  to  a  dressing-table  which  had  been  set  out  in 
the  angle  between  the  two  windows.  She  turned  the 
combs  and  brushes  over  with  a  contumelious  hand. 

*'  Where  is  your  hand-glass  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Do  not 
tell  me  that  you  have  never  looked  in  it  since  you  came 

?t6 


Love's  Clear  Eye 


to  Courtland,  or  that  you  can  put  up  with  that  squinting 
falsifier  up  there  (she  pointed  to  the  oval  framed  Vene- 
tian mirror  which  was  hung  opposite  her).  It  twists 
your  face  all  awry,  this  way  and  that,  like  a  monkey 
cracking  a  nut.  'Twas  well  enough  for  our  good  Con- 
rad, but  the  Princess  Joan  is  another  matter." 

"  I  have  never  even  looked  in  either !  "  said  the 
Sparhawk. 

Some  subtle  difference  in  tone  of  voice  caused  the 
Princess  to  stop  her  work  of  patting  into  docility  her 
fair  clustering  ringlets,  winding  them  about  her  fingers 
and  rearranging  to  greater  advantage  the  little  golden 
combs  which  held  her  rebellious  tresses  in  place.  She 
looked  keenly  at  the  Sparhawk,  standing  with  both  her 
shapely  arms  at  the  back  of  her  head  and  holding  a  long 
ivory  pin  with  a  head  of  bright  green  malachite  between 
her  small  white  teeth. 

"  Your  voice  is  hoarse  —  somehow  you  are  different,'* 
she  said,  taking  the  pin  from  her  lips  and  slipping  it 
through  the  rebellious  plaits  with  a  swift,  vindictive 
motion. 

"  I  have  caught  a  cold  riding  into  the  city,"  quoth  the 
Sparhawk  hastily,  blushing  uneasily  under  her  eyes. 
But  for  the  time  being  his  disguise  was  safe.  Already 
Margaret  of  Courtland  was  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  began,  going  to  the  window  and 
gazing  pensively  out  upon-  the  green,  white-flecked  pour 
of  the  Alia,  swirling  under  the  beams  of  the  Summer 
Palace,  "  how  many  of  a  suite  have  followed  you  hither  ?  " 

"  Only  Alt  Pikker,  my  second  captain  !  "  said  the 
Sparhawk. 

Again  the  tones  of  his  voice  seemed  to  touch  her 
woman's  ear  with  some  subtle  perplexity  even  in  the 
midst    of  her   abstraction.      Margaret    turned   her   eye& 

217 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

again  upon  Maurice,  till  he  shivered  in  the  flowing 
golden-belted  dress  of  velvet  which  sat  handsomely 
enough  upon  his  slender  figure. 

"  And  your  chief  captain,  Von  Orseln  ? "  The 
Princess  seemed  to  be  meditating  again,  her  thoughts 
far  from  the  rush  of  the  Alia  beneath  and  from  the 
throat  voice  of  the  false  Princess  before  her. 

••'  Von  Orseln  has  gone  to  the  Baltic  Edge  to  raise  on 
my  behalf  the  folk  of  the  marches !  "  answered  the 
Sparhawk  warily. 

"  Then  there  was  — "  the  Princess  hesitated,  and 
her  own  voice  grew  a  trifle  lower  —  "  the  young  man 
who  came  hither  as  Dessauer's  secretary  —  what  of 
him?  The  Count  von  Loen,  if  I  mistake  not  —  that 
was  his  name  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  traitor  !  " 

The  Princess  turned  quickly. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  you  do  not  think  so.  Your  voice 
\s  kind  when  you  speak  of  him.  Besides,  I  am  sure  he 
is  no  traitor.      Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  the  place  where  he  most  wishes  to  be  — 
with  the  woman  he  loves  !  " 

The  light  died  out  of  the  bright  face  of  the  Princess 
Margaret  at  the  answer,  even  as  a  snow-cloud  wipes  the 
sunshine  off  a  landscape. 

"  The  woman  he  loves  ?  "  she  stammered,  as  if  she 
could  not  have  heard  aright. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  false  bride,  loosening  her  cloak  and 
casting  it  behind  her.  "  I  swear  it.  He  is  with  the 
woman   he  loves." 

But  in  his  heart  the  Sparhawk  was  saying,  "  Steady, 
Master  Maurice  von  Lynar  — or  all  will  be  out  in  five 
minutes." 

The  Princess  Margaret  walked  determinedly  from  the 

2X8 


Love's  Clear  Eve 


window  to  the  fireplace.  She  was  not  so  tall  by  half  a 
head  as  her  guest,  but  to  the  eyes  of  the  Sparhawk  she 
towered  above  him  like  a  young  poplar  tree.  He  shrank 
from  her  searching  glance. 

The  Princess  laid  her  hand  upon  the  sleeve  of  the 
velvet  gown.     A  flush  of  anger  crimsoned  her  fair  face. 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  "  I  see  it  all  now,  madam  the 
Princess.  You  love  the  Count  and  you  think  to  blind 
me.  This  is  the  reason  of  your  riding  off  with  him  on 
your  wedding  day.  I  saw  you  go  by  his  side.  You 
sent  Count  Maurice  to  bring  to  you  the  four  hundred 
lances  of  Kernsberg.  It  was  for  his  sake  that  you  left 
my  brother  Prince  Louis  at  the  church  door.  Like 
draws  to  like,  they  say,  and  your  eyes  are  as  like  as  peas 
to  those  of  the  Count  von  Loen." 

And  this,  indeed,  could  the  Sparhawk  in  no  wise 
deny.      The   Princess  went  her  angry  way. 

"  There  have  been  many  lies  told,"  she  cried,  raising 
the  pitch  of  her  voice,  "but  I  am  not  blind.  I  can  see 
through  them.  I  am  a  woman  and  can  gauge  a  woman's 
pretext.  You  yourself  are  in  love  with  the  Count  von 
Loen,  and  vet  you  tell  me  that  he  is  with  the  woman  he 
loves.  Bah  —  he  loves  you — you,  his  mistress  —  next, 
that  is,  to  his  selfish,  self-seeking  self.  If  he  is  with 
the  woman  he  loves,  as  you  say,  tell  me  her  name  !  " 

There  came  a  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  demanded  imperiously  the  Princess 
Margaret. 

"The  Prince  of  Muscovy,  to  present  his  duty  to  the 
Princess  of  Courtland  !  " 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  him —  I  will  not  see  him  !  " 
said  the  Sparhawk  hastily,  who  felt  that  one  inquisitor  at 
?.  time  was  as  much  as  he  could  hone  to  deal  with. 

"  Enter  !  "   said  the  Princess  Margaret  haughtily. 

2  in 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  Prince  opened  the  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold 
bowing  low  to  the  ladies. 

"  Well  ?  "  queried  Margaret  of  Courtland,  without 
further  acknowledgment  of  his  salutation  than  the  slight- 
est and  chillest  nod. 

"  My  service  to  both,  noble  Princesses,"  the  answer 
came  with  suave  deference.  "  The  Prince  Louis  sent 
me  to  beg  of  his  noble  spouse,  the  Princess  Joan,  that 
she  would  deign  to  receive  him." 

"  Tell  Louis  that  the  Princess  will  receive  him  at  her 
own  time.  He  ought  to  have  better  manners  than  to 
trouble  a  lady  yet  weary  from  a  long  journey.  And  you, 
Prince  Ivan,  you  have  our  leave  to  go  !  " 

Whilst  Margaret  was  speaking  the  Prince  had  fixed  his 
piercing  eyes  upon  the  Sparhawk,  as  if  already  he  had 
penetrated  his  secret.  But  because  he  was  a  man 
Maurice  sustained  the  searching  gaze  with  haughty 
indifference.  The  Prince  of  Muscovy  turned  upon  the 
Princess  Margaret  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  All  this  makes  an  ill  lesson  for  you,  my  fair 
betrothed,"  he  said,  bowing  to  her;  "but  —  there  will 
be  no  riding  home  once  we  have  you  in  Moscow  I  " 

"  True,  I  shall  not  need  to  return,  for  I  shall  never 
ride  thither ! "  retorted  the  Princess.  "  Moreover,  I 
would  have  you  remember  that  I  am  not  your  betrothed. 
The  Prince  Louis  is  your  betrothed,  if  you  have  any  in 
Courtland.  You  can  carry  him  to  Moscow  an  you  will, 
and  comfort  each  other  there." 

"  That  also  I  may  do  some  day,  madam  ! "  said  the 
Prince  Wasp,  stirred  to  quick  irritation.  "  But  in  the 
meantime.  Princess  Joan,  does  it  please  you  to  signify 
when  you  will  receive  your  husband  ?  " 

"  No  !  no !  no  !  "  whispered  the  Sparhawk  in  great 
perturbation. 

220 


Love's  Clear  Eye 

The  Princess  Margaret  pointed  totthe  door. 

"Go!"  she'  said.  "I  myself  will  signify  to  my 
brother  when  he  can  wait  upon  the  Princess." 

"  My  Lady  Margaret,"  the  Muscovite  purred  in 
answer,  "  think  you,  is  it  wise  thus  to  encourage  rebel- 
lion in  the  most  sacred  relations  of  life  ?  " 

The  Princess  Margaret  trilled  into  merriest  laughter 
and  reached  back  a  hand  to  take  Joan's  fingers  in  hers 
protectingly. 

"  The  homily  of  the  most  reverend  churchman,  Prince 
Ivan  of  Muscovy,  upon  matrimony ;  Judas  condemning 
treachery,  Satan  rebuking  sin,  were  nothing  to  this  !  " 

With  all  his  faults  the  Prince  had  humour,  the  humour 
of  a  torture  scene  in  some  painted  monkish  Inferno. 

"  Agreed,"  he  said  smiling ;  "  and  what  does  the 
Princess  Margaret  protecting  that  shrinking  flower,  Joan 
of  the  Sword  Hand,  remind  you  of?  " 

"  That  the  room  of  Prince  Ivan  is  more  welcome  to 
ladies  than  his  company  !  "  retorted  Margaret  of  Court- 
lond,  still  holding  the  Sparhawk's  hand  between  both  of 
hers,  and  keeping  her  angry  eyes  and  petulant  flower 
face  indignantly  upon  the  intruder. 

Had  Prince  Ivan  been  looking  at  her  companion  at 
that  moment  he  might  have  penetrated  the  disguise, 
so  tender  and  devoted  a  light  of  love  dwelt  on  the  Spar- 
hawk's  countenance  and  beaconed  from  his  eyes.  But 
he  only  bowed  deferentially  and  withdrew.  Margaret 
and  the  Sparhawk  were  left  once  more  alone. 

The  two  stood  thus  while  the  brisk  footsteps  of  Prince 
Wasp  thinned  out  down  the  corridor.  Then  Margaret 
turned  swiftly  upon  her  tall  companion,  and,  still  keeping 
her  hand,  she  pulled  Maurice  over  to  the  window. 
There  in  the  fuller  light  she  scanned  the  Sparhawk's 
features  with  a  kindling  eye  and  paling  lips. 

221 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  God  in  heaven  !  "  she  palpitated,  holding  him  at 
a  greater  distance,  "  you  are  not  the  Lady  Joan  ;  you 
are  —  you  are  — " 

"  The  man  who  loves  you  !  "  said  the  Sparhawk,  v/ho 
was  very  pale. 

"  The  Count  von  Loen,  Oh  !  why  did  you  risk  it  r  " 
she  gasped.  "They  will  kill  you,  tear  you  to  pieces 
without  remorse,  when  they  find  out.  And  it  is  a  thing 
that  cannot  be  kept  secret.      Why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  For  your  sake,  beloved,"  said  the  Sparhawk,  coming 
nearer  to  her:  "to  look  once  more  on  vour  face  —  to 
behold  once,  if  no  more,  the  lips  that  kissed  me  in  the 
dark  by  the  river  brink  !  " 

"  But  —  but  —  you  may  forfeit  your  life  !  " 

"  And  a  thousand  lives !  "  cried  the  Sparhawk,  nervously 
pulling  at  his  woman's  dress  as  if  ashamed  that  he  must 
wear  it  at  such  a  time.  "  Life  without  you  is  naught  to 
Maurice  von  Lynar  !  " 

A  glow  of  conscious  happiness  rose  warm  and  pink 
upon  the  cheeks  of  the  Princess  Margaret. 

"  Besides,"  added  Maurice,  "  the  captains  of  Kerns- 
berg  considered  that  thus  alone  could  their  mistress  be 
saved." 

The  glow  paled  a  little. 

"  What !  by  sacrificing  you  ?  But  perhaps  you  did  it 
for  her  sake,  and  not  wholly,  as  you  say,  for  mine  !  " 

There  was  no  such  thought  in  her  heart,  but  she 
wished  to  hear  him  deny  It. 

"  Nay,  my  lady,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  was,  indeed,  more 
than  ready  to  come  to  Courtland,  but  it  was  because  of 
the  hope  that  surged  through  my  heart,  as  flame  leaps 
through  tow,  that  I  should  see  you  and  hear  your  voice  !  " 

The  Princess  held  out  her  hands  impulsively  and 
then  retracted  them  suddenly. 

2  2  2 


Love's  Clear  Eye 


*'  Now,  we  must  not  waste  time,"  she  said  ;  "  I  must 
save  you.  They  would  slay  you  on  the  least  suspicion. 
But  I  will  match  them.  Would  to  God  that  Conrad 
were  here.  To  him  I  could  speak.  I  could  trust  him. 
He  would  help  us.      Let  me  see !      Let  me  see  !  " 

She  bent  her  head  and  walked  slowly  to  the  window. 
Like  every  Courtlander  she  thought  best  when  she  could 
watch  the  swirl  of  the  green  Alia  against  its  banks.  The 
Sparhawk  took  a  step  as  if  to  follow,  but  instead  stood 
still  where  he  was  drinking  in  her  proud  and  girlish 
beauty.  To  the  eye  of  any  spy  they  were  no  more 
than  two  noble  ladies  who  had  quarrelled,  the  smaller 
and  slighter  of  whom  had  turned  her  back  upon  the 
taller ! 

They  were  In  the  same  position  still,  and  the  white 
foam-fleck  which  Margaret  was  following  with  her  eyes 
had  not  vanished  from  her  sight,  when  the  door  of  the 
Summer  Palace  was  rudely  thrown  open  and  an  officer 
announced  in  a  loud,  strident  tone,  '^  The  Prince  Louis 
to  visit  his  Princess  !  '* 


«23 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE    ROYAL    MINX 

PRINCE  LOUIS  entered,  flushed  and  excited.  His 
eyes  had  lost  their  furtive  meanness  and  blazed 
with  a  kind  of  reckless  fury  quite  foreign  to  the  man,  for 
anger  affected  him  as  wine  might  another  man. 

He  spoke  first  to  the  Princess  Margaret. 

"  And  so,  my  fair  sister,"  he  said,  "  you  would  foment 
rebellion  even  in  my  own  palace  and  concoct  conspiracy 
with  my  own  married  wife.  Make  ready,  madam,  for 
to-morrow  you  shall  find  your  master.  I  will  marry 
you  to  the  Prince  Ivan  of  Muscovy.  He  will  carry  you 
to  Moscow,  where  ladies  of  your  breed  are  taught  to 
obey.  And  if  they  will  not  —  why,  their  delicate  skins 
may  chance  to  be  caressed  with  instruments  less  tender 
than  lovers'  fingers.  Go  —  make  you  ready.  You  shall 
be  wed  and  that  immediately.  And  leave  me  alone  with 
my  wife." 

"  I  will  not  marry  the  Prince  of  Muscovy,"  his  sister 
answered  calmly.  "  I  would  rather  die  by  the  axe  of 
your  public  executioner.  I  would  wed  with  the  vilest 
scullion  that  squabbles  with  the  swine  for  gobbets  in  the 
gutters  of  Courtland,  rather  than  sit  on  a  throne  with 
such  a  man  !  " 

The  Prince  nodded  sagely. 

"A  pretty  spirit — a  true  Courtland  spirit,"  he  said 
mockingly.  "  I  had  the  same  within  my  heart  when  I 
was  young.     Conrad   hath    it   now — priest   though    he 

22d. 


The  Royal  Minx 


be.  Nevertheless,  he  is  off  to  Rome  to  kiss  the  Pope's 
toe.  By  my  faith,  Gretchen,  you  show  a  very  pretty 
spirit !  " 

He  wheeled  about  and  looked  towards  the  false  Joan, 
who  was  standing  gripping  his  nails  into  his  palms  by  the 
chimney-mantel. 

"  And  you,  my  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  have  had  your 
turn  of  rebellion.  But  once  is  enough.  You  are  con- 
quered now.  You  are  a  wedded  wife.  Your  place 
is  with  your  husband.  You  sleep  in  my  palace  to- 
night I " 

"  If  I  do,"  muttered  the  Sparhawk, ''  I  know  who  will 
wake  in  hell  to-morrow  !  " 

"  My  brother  Louis,"  cried  the  Princess  Margaret, 
running  up  to  him  and  taking  his  arm  coaxingly,  "  do 
not  be  so  hasty  with  two  poor  women.  Neither  of  us 
desire  aught  but  to  do  your  will.  But  give  us  time. 
Spare  us,  for  you  are  strong.  *■  A  woman's  way  is  the 
cloud's  way  '  —  you  know  our  Courtland  proverb.  You 
cannot  harness  the  northern  lights  to  your  chariot 
wheels.  Woo  us  —  coax  us  —  ay,  even  deceive  us. 
But  do  not  force  us.  Louis,  Louis,  I  thought  you  were 
wise,  and  yet  I  see  that  you  know  not  the  alphabet  of 
love.  Here  is  your  lady.  Have  you  ever  said  a  loving 
word  to  her,  bent  the  knee,  kissed  her  hand  —  which, 
being  persisted  in,  is  the  true  way  to  kiss  the  mouth." 

("  If  he  does  either,"  growled  the  Sparhawk,  "  my 
sword  will  kiss  his  midriff!  ") 

Prince  Louis  smiled.  He  was  not  used  to  women's 
flatteries,  and  in  his  present  state  of  exaltation  the 
cajoleries  of  the  Princess  suited  his  mood.  He  swelled 
with  self-importance,  puffing  his  cheeks  and  twirling  his 
moustache  upwards  with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  his 
left  hand, 

IS  225 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  I  know  more  of  women  than  you  think,  sister,"  he 
made  answer.  "  I  have  had  experiences  — in  my  youth, 
that  is ;  I  am  no  puppet  princeling.  By  Saint  Mark  ! 
once  on  a  day  I  had  strutted  it  with  the  boldest ;  and  to- 
day, well,  now  that  I  have  humbled  this  proud  madam 
and  brought  her  to  my  own  city,  why,  I  will  show  you 
that  I  am  no  Wendish  boor.  I  can  sue  a  lady's  favour 
as  courteously  as  any  man,  and,  Margaret,  if  you  will 
promise  me  to  be  a  good  girl  and  get  you  ready  to  be 
married  to-morrow,  I  promise  you  that  Louis  of  Court- 
land  will  solicit  his  lady's  favour  with  all  grace  and 
observance." 

"  Gladly  will  I  be  married  to-morrow,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess, caressing  her  brother's  sleeve  —  "  that  is,  if  I  can- 
not be  married  to-day  !  "  she  added  under  her  breath. 

But  she  paused  a  few  moments  as  if  embarrassed. 
Then  she  went  on. 

"  Brother  Louis,  I  have  spoken  with  my  sister  here  — 
your  wife,  the  Lady  Joan.  She  hath  a  scruple  concern- 
ing matrimony.  She  would  have  it  resolved  before  she 
had  speech  with  you  again.  Permit  our  good  Father 
Clement  to  advise  with  her." 

"  Father  Clement  —  our  Conrad's  tutor,  why  he  more 
than  another  ?  " 

"Well,  do  you  not  understand  ?  He  is  old,"  pleaded 
Margaret,  "  and  there  are  things  one  can  say  but  to  an 
old  man.      You   understand,  brother  Louis." 

The  Prince  nodded,  well  pleased.  This  was  pleasant. 
His  mentor.  Prince  Wasp,  did  not  usually  flatter  him. 
Rather  he   made  him  chafe  on  a  tight  rein. 

"And  if  I  send  Father  Clement  to  you,  chit,"  he  said, 
patting  his  sister's  softly  rounded  cheek,  "  will  he  both 
persuade  you  and  ease  the  scruples  of  my  Lady  Joan  ?  I 
am   as  delicate  and   understanding   as  any   man.      I  will 

226 


The  Royal  Minx 


not  drive  a  woman  when  she  desires  to  be  led.  But  led 
or  driven  she  must  be.  For  to  my  will  she  must  come 
at  last." 

"  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it !  "  she  cried  joyously.  "  Again 
you  are  mine  own  Louis,  my  dear,  sweet  brother ! 
When  will  Father  Clement  come  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  he  can  be  sent  for,"  the  Prince  answered. 
"  He  will  come  directly  here  to  the  Summer  Palace. 
And  till  then  you  two  fair  maids  can  abide  together. 
Princess,  my  wife,  I  kiss  your  noble  hand.  Margaret, 
your  cheek.      Till  to-morrow  —  till  to-morrow  !  " 

He  went  out  with  an  attempt  at  airy  grace  curiously 
grafted  on  his  usual  saturnine  manners.  The  door  closed 
behind  him.  Margaret  of  Courtland  listened  a  moment 
with  bated  breath  and  finger  on  lip.  A  shouted  order 
reached  her  ear  from  beneath.  Then  came  a  tramp  of 
disciplined  feet,  and  again  they  heard  the  swirl  of  the 
Alia  fretting  about  the  piles  of  the  Summer  Palace. 

Then  quickly  dropping  her  lover's  finger,  Margaret 
took  hold  of  her  dress  at  either  side  daintily  and  circled 
about  the  Sparhawk  in  a  light-tripping  dance. 

"Ah,  Louis  —  we  will  be  good  and  bidable  —  to- 
morrow. To-morrow  you  will  see  me  a  loving  and 
obedient  wife.  To-morrow  I  will  wed  Prince  Wasp. 
Meantime  —  to-dav  you  and  I,  Maurice,  will  consult 
Father  Clement,  mine  ancient  confessor,  who  will  do 
anything  I  ask  him.  To-day  we  will  dance  —  put  your 
arm  about  my  waist  —  firmly  —  so  !  There,  we  will 
dance  at  a  wedding  to-day,  you  and  L  For  in  that 
brave  velvet  robe  you  shall  be  married  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  Sparhawk,  stopping  suddenly. 
His  impulsive  sweetheart  caught  him  again  into  the 
dance  as  she  swept  about  in  her    impetuous  career. 

"Yes,"  she   nodded,  minuetting  before  him.      "  It  is 

227 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

as  I  say  —  you  are  to  be  married  all  over  again.  And 
when  you  ride  off  I  will  ride  with  you  —  no  slipping 
your  marriage  engagements  this  time,  good  sir.  I  know 
your  Kernsberg  manners  now.  You  will  not  find  me 
so  slack  as  my  brother  !  " 

"Margaret!"  cried  the  Sparhawk.  And  with  one 
bound  he  had  her  against  his  breast. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  with  a  shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders, 
as  she  submitted  to  his  embrace.  "  I  don't  love  you 
half  as  much  in  that  dress.  Why,  it  is  like  kissing  an- 
other girl  at  the  convent.      Ugh,  the  cats  !  " 

She  was  not  permitted  to  say  any  more.  The  Alia 
was  heard  very  clearly  in  the  Summer  Palace  as  it  swept 
the  swift  moments  with  it  away  towards  the  sea  which 
is  oblivion.  Then  after  a  time,  and  a  time  and  half  a 
time,  the  Princess  Margaret  slowly  emerged. 

"  No,"  she  said  retrospectively,  "  it  is  not  like  the 
convent,  after  all  —  not  a  bit." 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

"  Affection  is  ever  seemly,  especially  between  great 
ladies  —  also  unusual  !  "  said  a  bass  voice,  speaking  grave 
and  kindly  behind  them. 

The  Sparhawk  turned  quickly  round,  the  crimson 
rushing  instantly  to  his  cheek. 

"  P'ather  —  dear  Father  Clement!"  cried  Margaret 
running  to  the  noble  old  man  who  stood  by  the  door 
and  kneeling  down  for  his  blessing.  He  gave  it  simply 
and  benignantly,  and  then  laid  his  hand  a  moment  on 
the  rippling  masses  of  her  fair  hair.  Then  he  turned  his 
eyes  upon  the  Sparhawk. 

Then  the  confusion  of  his  beautiful  penitent,  the  flush 
which  mounted  to  her  neck  even  as  she  kneeled,  added 
to  a  certain  level  defiance  in  the  glance  of  her  taller 
companion,  told  him  almost  at  a  glance  that  which  had 

228 


The  Royal  Minx 

been  so  carefully  concealed.  For  the  Father  was  a  man 
of  much  experience.  A  man  who  hears  a  dozen  confes- 
sions every  day  of  his  life  through  a  wicket  in  a  box 
grows  accustomed  to  distinguishing  the  finer  differences 
of  sex.  His  glance  travelled  back  and  forth  from  the 
Sparhawk  to  Margaret,  and  from  Margaret  to  the  Spar- 
hawk. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said  at  last,  for  all  comment. 

The  Princess  rose  to  her  feet  and  approached  the 
priest. 

"  My  Father,"  she  said  swiftly,  "  this  is  not  the  Lady 
Joan,  my  brother's  wife,  but  a  youth  marvellously  like 
her,  who  hath  offered  himself  in  her  place  that  she  might 
escape  —  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sparhawk,  "  it  was  to  see  you  once 
again.  Lady  Margaret,  that  I  came  to  Courtland  !  " 

"  Hush  !  you  must  not  interrupt,"  she  went  on,  put- 
ting him  aside  with  her  hand.  "  He  is  the  Count  von 
Loen,  a  lord  of  Kernsberg.  And  I  love  him.  We 
want  you  to  marry  us  now,  dear  Father — now,  without 
a  moment's  delay  ;  for  if  you  do  not,  they  will  kill  him, 
and  I  shall  have  to  marry  Prince  Wasp  !  " 

^he  clasped  her  hands  about  his  arm. 

"Will  you  ?  "  she  said  again,  looking  up  beseechingly 
3*.  him. 

The  Princess  Margaret  was  a  lady  who  knew  her 
mind  and   bent  other  minds   to  her  own. 

The  Father  stood  smiling  a  little  down  upon  her, 
more  with  his  eyes  than  with  his  lips. 

"They  will  kill  him  and  marrv  you,  if  I  do.  And, 
moreover,  pray  tell  me,  little  one,  what  will  they  do  to 
me  i*  "  he  said. 

"  Father,  they  would  not  dare  to  meddle  with  you. 
Your  office  —  your  sanctity,  Holy  Mother  Church  her- 

22q 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

self  would  protect  you.  If  Conrad  were  here,  he  would 
do  it  for  me.  I  am  sure  he  would  marry  us.  I  could 
tell  him  everything.  But  he  is  far,  far  away,  on  his 
knees  at  the  shrine  of  Holy  Saint  Peter,  most  like." 

"  And  you,  young  masquerader,"  said  Father  Clement, 
turning  to  the  Sparhawk,  "  what  say  you  to  all  this  ?  Is 
this  your  wish,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Princess  Margaret  ? 
I  must  know  all  before  I  consent  to  put  my  neck  into  the 
halter  !  " 

"  I  will  do  whatever  the  Princess  wishes.      Her   will 


is  mine." 


"  Do  not  make  a  virtue  of  that,  young  man,"  said  the 
priest,  smiling ;  *'  the  will  of  the  Princess  is  also  that  of 
most  people  with  whom  she  comes  in  contact.  Sub- 
mission is  no  distinction  where  our  Lady  Margaret  is 
concerned.  Why,  ever  since  she  was  so  high  (he  in- 
dicated with  his  hand),  I  declare  the  minx  hath  set  her 
own  penances  and  dictated  her  own  absolutions." 

"  You  have  indeed  been  a  sweet  confessor,"  mur- 
mured Margaret  of  Courtland,  still  clasping  the  Father's 
arm  and  looking  up  fondly  into  his  face.  "  And  you 
will  do  as  I  ask  you  this  once.  I  will  not  ask  for  such 
a  long  time  again." 

The  priest  laughed  a  short  laugh. 

"  Nay,  if  I  do  marry  you  to  this  gentleman  —  I  hope 
it  will  serve  for  a  while.  I  cannot  marry  Princesses  of 
the  empire  to  carnival  mummers  more  than  once  a 
week  !  " 

A  quick  frown  formed  on  the  brow  of  Maurice  von 
Lynar.  He  took  a  step  nearer.  The  priest  put  up  his 
hand,  with  the  palm  outspread  in  a  sort  of  counterfeit 
alarm. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not  if  it  will  last  even  a  week  if  bride 
and  groom  are  both  of  the  same  temper.       Gently,  good 

230 


The  Roval  Minx 

sir,  gently  and  softly.  I  must  go  carefully  myself.  I 
am  bringing  my  grey  hairs  very  near  the  gallows.  I 
must  consider  my  duty,  and  you  must  respect  my  office." 
The  Sparhawk  dropped  on  one  knee  and  bent  his 
head. 

"  Ah,  that  is  better,"  said  the  priest,  making  the  sign 
of  benediction  above  the  clustered  raven  locks.  "  Rise,, 
sir,  I  would  speak  with  you  a  moment  apart.  My  Lady 
Margaret,  will  you  please  to  walk  on  the  terrace  there 
while  I  confer  with  —  the  Lady  Joan,  according  to  the 
commandment  of  the  Prince." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words  he  made  a  little  move- 
ment towards  the  corridor  v/ith  his  hand,  at  the  same 
moment  elevating  his  voice.  The  Princess  caught  his 
meaning  and,  before  either  of  her  companions  could  stop 
her,  she  tiptoed  to  the  door,  set  her  hand  softly  to  the 
latch,  and  suddenly  flung  it  open.  Prince  Louis  stood 
without,  with  head  bowed  to  listen. 

The  Princess  shrilled  into  a  little  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Brother  Louis,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands,  "  we 
have  caught  you.  You  must  restrain  your  youthful, 
ardent  affections.  Your  bride  is  about  to  confess.  This 
is  no  time  for  mandolines  and  serenades.  You  should 
have  tried  those  beneath  her  windows  in  Kernsberg. 
They  might  have  wooed  her  better  than  arbalast  and 
mangonel." 

The  Prince  glared  at  his  d'ebonna'ire  sister  as  if  he 
could  have  slain  her  on  the  spot. 

"I  returned,"  he  said  formally,  speaking  to  the  dis- 
guised Maurice,  "  to  inform  the  Princess  that  her  rooms 
in  the  main  palace  were  ready  for  her  whenever  she 
deigns  to  occupy  them." 

"I  thank  you.  Prince  Louis,"  returned  the  false 
Princess,  bowing.      \\\  his  cnaracter  of  a  woman  betrayed 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

and  led  prisoner  the  Sparhawk  was  sparing  of  his  words, 
and  for  other  reasons  as  well. 

"  Come,  brother,  your  arm,"  said  the  Princess.  "  You 
and  I  must  not  intrude.  We  will  leave  the  good  Father 
and  his  fair  penitent.  W^ill  you  walk  with  me  on  the 
terrace  ?  I,  on  my  part,  will  listen  to  your  lover's  con- 
fession and  give  you  absolution  — -  even  for  listening  at 
keyholes.      Come,  dear  brother,  come  !  " 

And  with  one  gay  glance  shot  backward  at  the  Spar- 
hawk,  half  over  her  shoulder,  the  Lady  Margaret  took 
the  unwilling  arm  of  her  brother  and  swept  out.  Verily, 
as  Father  Clement  had  said,  she  was  a  royal  minx. 


23? 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE    PRINCESS    MARGARET    IS    IN    A    HURRY 

THE  priest  waited  till  their  footsteps  died  away  down 
the  corridor  before  going  to  the  door  to  shut  it. 
Then  he  turned  and  faced  the  Sparhawk  with  a  very 
different  countenance  to  that  which  he  had  bent  upon 
the  Princess  Margaret. 

Generally,  when  women  leave  a  room  the  ther- 
mometer drops  suddenly  many  degrees  nearer  the  zero 
of  verity.  There  is  all  the  difference  between  velvet 
sheath  and  bare  blade,  between  the  courtesies  of  seconds 
and  the  first  clash  of  the  steel  in  the  hands  of  princi- 
pals. There  are,  let  us  say,  two  men  and  one  woman. 
The  woman  is  in  the  midst.  Smile  answers  smile. 
Masks  are  up.  The  sun  shines  in.  She  goes,  and  be- 
fore the  smile  of  parting  has  fluttered  from  her  lips,  lo  ! 
iron  answers  iron  on  the  faces  of  the  men.  Off,  ye 
lendings  !     Salute  !      Engage  !     To  the  death  ! 

There  was  nothing,  however,  deadly  in  the  encounter 
of  the  Sparhawk  and  Father  Clement.  It  was  only  as 
if  a  couple  of  carnival  maskers  had  stepped  aside  out  of 
the  whirl  of  a  dance  to  talk  a  little  business  in  some 
quiet  alcove.  The  Father  foresaw  the  difficulty  of  his 
task.  The  Sparhawk  was  conscious  of  the  awkward- 
ness of  maintaining  a  manly  dignity  in  a  woman's  gown. 
He  felt,  as  it  were,  choked  about  the  legs  in  another 
man's  presence. 

233 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Fland 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  the  priest,  abruptly,  "  who  may 
you  be  ?  " 

"  Father,  I  am  a  servant  to  the  Duchess  Joan  of 
Hohenstein  and  Kernsberg.  Maurice  von  Lynar  is  mv 
name  !  " 

"  And  pray,  how  came  you  so  like  the  Duchess  that 
you  can   pass  muster  for  her  ? " 

"That  I  know  not.  It  is  an  affair  upon  which  I 
was  not  consulted.  But,  indeed,  I  do  it  but  poorly,  and 
succeed  only  with  those  who  know  her  but  little  and 
who  are  in  addition  men  without  observation.  Both 
the  Princess  and  yourself  saw  through  me  easily  enough, 
and  I  am  in  fear  every  moment  I  am  near  Prince 
Ivan." 

"  How  came  the  Princess  to  love  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  loved  her.  For  another,  I 
told  her  so  !  " 

"  The  points  are  well  taken,  but  of  themselves  in- 
sufficient," smiled  the  priest.  "  So  also  have  others 
better  equipped  by  fortune  to  win  her  favour  than  you. 
What  else  ?  " 

Then,  with  a  certain  shamefaced  and  sulky  pride,  the 
Sparhawk  told  Father  Clement  all  the  tale  of  the  mission 
of  the  Duchess  Joan  of  Courtland,  of  the  liking  the 
Princess  had  taken  to  her  in  her  secretarv's  attire,  of  the 
kiss  upon  the  dark  river's  bank,  the  fragrant  memory  of 
which  had  drawn  him  back  to  Courtland  against  his  will. 
And  the  priest  listened  like  a  man  of  many  counsels  who 
knows  that  the  strangest  things  are  the  truest,  and  that 
the  naked  truth  is  alwavs  incredible. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  tangle  you  have  made  between  you," 
said  Father  Clement  when  Maurice  finished.  "  I  know 
not  how  you  could  more  completelv  have  twisted  the 
skein.      Everyone  is  somebody  else,  and  the  devil  is  hard 

234 


Princess  Margaret  is  in  a  Hurry 

upon  the  hindmost  —  or  Prince  Ivan,  which  is  the  same 
thing." 

The  priest  now  withdrew  in  his  turn  to  where  he 
could  watch  the  Alia  curving  its  back  a  little  in  mid- 
stream as  the  summer  floods  rushed  seaward  from  the 
hills.  To  true  Courtland  folk  its  very  bubbles  brought 
counsel  as  they  floated  down  towards  the  Baltic. 

"  Let  me  see  !  Let  me  see  !  "  he  murmured,  strok- 
ing his  chin. 

Then  after  a  long  pause  he  turned  again  to  the 
Sparhawk. 

"  You  are  of  sufficient  fortune  to  maintain  the  Prin- 
cess as  becomes  her  rank  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  rich  man,"  answered  Von  Lynar,  "  but  by 
the  grace  of  the  Duchess  Joan  neither  am  I  a  poor  one. 
■She  hath  bestowed  on  me  one  of  her  father's  titles,  with 
lands  to  match." 

"  So,"  said  the  priest  ;  "  but  will  Prince  Louis  and 
the  Muscovites  give  you  leave  to  enjoy  them  ?  " 

"  The  estates  are  on  the  borders  of  Plassenburg," 
said  Maurice,  "and  I  think  the  Prince  of  Plassenburg 
for  his  own  security  will  provide  against  any  Muscovite 
invasion." 

"  Princes  are  but  princes,  though  I  grant  the  Execu- 
tioner's Son  is  a  good  one,"  answered  the  priest.  "  Well, 
better  to  marry  than  to  burn,  sayeth  Holy  Writ.  It  is 
touch  and  go,  in  any  event.  I  will  marry  you  and 
thereafter  betake  me  to  the  Abbey  of  Wolgast,  where 
dwells  my  very  good  friend  the  Abbot  Tobias.  For  old 
sake's  sake  he  will  keep  me  safe  there  till  this  thing 
blows  over," 

"  With  my  heart  I  thank  you,  my  Father,"  said  the 
Sparhawk,  kneeling. 

"  Nay,  do  not  thank   me.      Rather  thank  the   pretty 

235 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

insistency  of  your  mistress.  Yet  it  is  only  bringing  you 
both  one  step  nearer  destruction.  Walking  upon  egg- 
shells is  child's  play  to  this.  But  I  never  could  refuse 
your  sweetheart  either  a  comfit  or  an  absolution  all  my 
days.  To  my  shame  as  a  servant  of  God  I  say  it.  I 
will  go  call  her  in." 

He  went  to  the  door  with  a  curious  smile  on  his  face. 
He  opened  it,  and  there,  close  by  the  threshold,  was  the 
Princess  Margaret,  her  eyes  full  of  a  bright  mischief. 

"Yes,  I  was  listening,"  she  cried,  shaking  her  head 
defiantly.  "  I  do  not  care.  So  would  you.  Father,  if 
you  had  been  a  woman  and  in  love  —  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Father  Clement,  crossing  himself 

"  You  may  well  make  sure  of  heavenly  happiness,  my 
Father,  for  you  will  never  know  what  the  happiness  of 
earth  is !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  I  would  rather  be  a 
woman  and  in  love,  than  —  than  the  Pope  himself  and 
sit  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter." 

"  My  daughter,  do  not  be  irreverent." 

"  Father  Clement,  were  you  ever  in  love  ?  No,  of 
course  you  cannot  tell  me  ;  but  I  think  you  have  been. 
Your  eyes  are  kind  when  you  look  at  us.  You  are 
going  to  do  what  we  wish  —  I  know  you  are.  I  heard 
you  say  so  to  Maurice.      Now  begin." 

"  You  speak  as  if  the  Holy  Sacrament  were  no  more 
than  saying  'Abracadabra'  over  a  toadstool  to  cure 
warts,"  said  the  priest,  smiling.  "  Consider  your 
danger,  the  evil  case  in  which  you  will  put  me  when 
the  thing  is  discovered  — " 

"  I  will  consider  anything,  dear  Father,  if  you  will 
only  make  haste,"  said  the  Princess,  with  a  smiling  nat- 
ural vivacity  that  killed  any  verbal  disrespect. 

"Nay,  madcap,  be  patient.  We  must  have  a  witness 
whose   head  sits   on  his   shoulders   beyond  the   risk   of 

236 


Princess  Margaret  is  in  a  Hurry 

Prince  Louis's  halter  or  Prince  Ivan's  Muscovite  dagger. 
What  say  you  to  the  High  Councillor  of  Plassenburg, 
Von  Dessauer  ?      He  is  here  on  an  embassy." 

The  Princess  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Yes,  yes.  He  will  do  it.  He  will  keep  our  secret. 
He  also  likes  pretty  girls." 

"  Also  ?  "  queried  Father  Clement,  with  a  grave  and 
demure  countenance. 

"Yes,  Father,  you  know  you  do  —  " 

"  It  is  a  thing  most  strictly  forbidden  by  Holy  Church 
that  in  sacred  office  one  should  be  swayed  by  any  merely 
human  considerations,"  began  the  priest,  the  wrinkles 
puckering  about  his  eyes,  though  his  lips  continued 
grave. 

"  Oh,  please,  save  the  homily  till  after  sacrament, 
dear  Father  !  "  cried  the  Princess.  "  You  know  you  like 
me  and  that  you  cannot  help  it." 

The  priest  lifted  up  his  hand  and  glanced  upward  as 
if  deprecating  the  anger  of  Heaven. 

"  Alas,  it  is  too  true  !  "  he  said,  and  dropped  his  hand 
again  swiftly  to  his  side, 

"  I  will  go  and  summon  Dessauer  myself,"  she  went 
on.      "  I  will  run  so  quick.      I  cannot  bear  to  wait." 

"  A^bide  ye  —  abide  ye,  my  daughter,"  said  Father 
Clement  ;  "  let  us  do  even  this  folly  decently  and  in 
order.  The  day  is  far  spent.  Let  us  wait  till  darkness 
comes.  Then  when  you  are  rested  —  and  (he  looked 
towards  the  Sparhawk)  the  Lady  Joan  also  —  I  will 
return  with  High  Councillor  Dessauer,  v/ho,  without 
observance  or  suspicion,  may  pay  his  respects  to  the 
Princesses  upon  his  arrival." 

"  But,  Father,  I  cannot  wait,"  cried  the  impetuous 
bride.  "Something  might  happen  long  before  then. 
My  brother  might  come.      Prince  Wasp  might  find  out, 

^37 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  castle  itself  might  fall,  and  then  I  should  never  be 
married  at  all !  " 

And  the  very  impulsive  and  high-strung  daughter  of 
the  reigning  house  of  Courtland  put  a  kerchief  to  her 
eye  and  tapped  the  floor  with  the  silken  point  of  her 
slipper. 

The  holy  father  looked  at  her  a  moment  and  turned 
his  eyes  to  Maurice  von  Lynar.  Then  he  shook  his 
head  gravely  at  that  proximate  bridegroom  as  one  who 
would  say,"  If  you  be  neither  hanged  nor  yet  burnt  here 
in  Courtland  —  if  you  get  safely  out  of  this  with  your 
bride  —  why,  then,  Heaven  have  mercy  on  your  soul !  " 


238 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

A    WEDDING    WITHOUT    A    BRIDEGROOM 

TT  was  very  quiet  in  the  river  parlour  of  the  Summer 
^  Palace.  A  shaded  lamp  burned  in  its  niche  over 
the  desk  of  Prince  Conrad.  Another  swung  from  the 
ceiling  and  filled  the  whole  room  with  dim,  rich  light. 
The  window  was  a  little  open  and  the  Alia  murmured 
beneath  with  a  soothing  sound,  like  a  mother  hushing  a 
child  to  sleep.  There  was  no  one  in  the  great  room 
save  the  youth  whose  masquerading  was  now  well-nigh 
over.  The  Sparhawk  listened  intently.  Footsteps  were 
approaching.  Quick  as  thought  he  threw  himself  upon 
a  couch,  and  drew  about  him  a  light  cloak  or  woollen 
cloth  lined  with  silk.  The  footsteps  stopped  at  his 
door.  A  hand  knocked  lightly.  The  Sparhav/k  did 
not  answer.  There  was  a  long  pause  and  then  footsteps 
retreated  as  they  had  come.  The  Sparhawk  remained 
motionless.  Again  the  Alia,  outside  in  the  mild  autum- 
nal gloaming,  said,  "  Hush  !  " 

Tired  with  anxiety  and  the  strain  of  the  day,  the 
youth  passed  from  musing  to  real  sleep,  and  the  stream 
of  unconsciousness,  with  a  long,  soothing  swirl  like  that 
of  the  green  water  outside  among  the  piles  of  the 
Summer  Palace,  bore  him  away.  He  took  longer  breaths, 
sighing  in  his  slumbers  like  a  happy,  tired  child. 

Again  thej-e  came  footsteps,  quicker  and  lighter  this 
time;    then   the  crisp   rustle   of  silken    skirts,   a  warm 

^.>9 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

breath  of  scented  air,  and  the  door  was  closed  again. 
No  knocking  this  time.  It  was  someone  who  entered 
as  of  right. 

Then  the  Princess  Margaret,  with  clasped  hands  and 
parted  hps,  stood  still  and  watched  the  slumber  of  the 
man  she  loved.  Though  she  knew  it  not,  it  was  one 
of  the  crucial  moments  in  the  chronicle  of  love.  If  a 
woman's  heart  melts  from  friendship  to  a  kind  of  mother- 
hood at  the  sight  of  a  man  asleep;  if  something  draws 
tight  about  her  heart  like  the  strings  of  an  old-fashioned 
purse  ;  if  there  is  a  pulse  beating  where  no  pulse  should 
be,  a  pleasurable  lump  in  the  throat,  then  it  is  come  — 
the  not-to-be-denied,  the  long-expected,  the  inevitable. 
It  is  a  simple  test  and  one  not  always  to  be  applied  (as 
it  were)  without  a  doctor's  prescription  ;  but,  when  fairly 
tried,  it  is  infallible.  If  a  woman  is  happier  listening  to 
a  man's  quiet  breathing  than  she  has  ever  been  to 
hearken  to  any  other's  flattery,  it  is  no  longer  an  affair, 
it  is  a  passion. 

The  Princess  Margaret  sat  down  by  the  couch  of 
Maurice  von  Lynar  and,  after  this  manner  of  which  I 
have  told,  her  heart  was  moved  within  her.  As  she 
bent  a  little  over  the  youth  and  looked  into  his  sleeping 
face,  the  likeness  to  Joan  the  Duchess  came  out  more 
strongly  than  ever,  emerging  almost  startlingly,  as  a  race 
stamp  stands  out  on  the  features  of  the  dead.  She  bent 
her  head  still  nearer  the  slightly  parted  lips.  Then  she 
drew  back. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  smiling  at  her  intent,  "I  will 
not  —  at  least,  not  now.  I  will  wait  till  I  hear  them 
coming." 

She  stole  her  hand  under  the  cloak  which  covered  the 
sleeper  till  her  cool  fingers  rested  on  Maurice's  hand.  He 
stirred  a   little  and   his  lips   moved.       Then  his  eyelids 

240 


A  Wedding  without  a  Bridegroom 

quivered  to  the  lifting.      But   they  did  not    rise.     The 
ear  of  the  Princess  was  very  near  them  now. 

"  Margaret !  "  she  heard  him  say,  and  as  the  low 
whisper  reached  her  ear  she  sat  erect  in  her  chair 
with  a  happy  sigh.  So  wonderful  is  love  and  so 
utterly  indifferent  to  time  or  place,  to  circumstance  or 
reason. 

The  Alia  sighed  a  sigh  also  to  think  that  their  hour 
would  pass  so  swiftly.  So  Margaret  of  Courtland, 
princess  and  lover,  sat  contentedly  by  the  pillow  of  him 
who  had  once  been  a  prisoner  in  the  dungeon  of  Castle 
Kernsberg. 

But  in  the  palace  of  the  Prince  of  Courtland  time  ran 
even  more  swiftly  than  the  Alia  beneath  its  walls. 

Margaret  caught  a  faint  sound  far  away  —  footsteps, 
firm  footfalls  of  men  who  paced  slowly  together.  And 
as  these  came  nearer  she  could  disting-uish,  mixed  with 
them,  the  sharp  tapping  of  one  who  leans  upon  a  staff. 
She  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  now.  She  bent  down 
upon  the  sleeper.  Her  arm  glided  under  his  neck. 
Her  lips   met   his. 

"  Maurice,"  she  whispered,  "  wake,  dearest.  They 
are  coming." 

"  Margaret  !  "  he  would  have  answered.  But  could 
not. 

•  •••«. 

The  greetings  were  soon  over.  The  tale  had  already 
been  told  to  Von  Dessauer  by  Father  Clement.  The 
pair  stood  up  under  the  golden  glow  of  the  swinging 
silver  lamps.  It  was  a  strange  scene.  For,  surely, 
never  was  marriage  more  wonderfully  celebrated  on 
earth  than  this  of  two  fair  maidens  (for  so  they  still 
appeared  taking  hands  at  the  bidding  of  God's  priest 
and  vowing  the  solemn  vows,  in  the  presence  of  a 
i6  241 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

prince's  chancellor,  to  live  only  for  each  other  in  all  the 
world. 

Maurice,  tall  and  dark,  a  red  mantle  falling  back 
from  his  shoulders,  confined  at  the  waist  and  falling 
again  to  the  feet,  stood  holding  Margaret's  hand,  while 
she,  younger  and  slighter,  her  skin  creamily  white,  her 
cheek  rose-flushed,  her  eyes  brilliant  as  with  fever, 
watched  P^ather  Clement  as  if  she  feared  he  would  omit 
some  essential  of  the   service. 

Von  Dessauer,  High  Councillor  of  Plassenburg,  stood 
leaning  on  the  head  of  his  staff  and  watching  with  a 
certain  gravity  of  sympathy,  mixed  with  apprehension, 
the  simple  ceremonial. 

Presently  the  solemn  "  Let  no  man  put  asunder  "  was 
said,  the  blessing  pronounced,  and  Leopold  von  Dessauer 
came  forward  with  his  usual  courtly  grace  to  salute  the 
newly  made  Countess  von  Loen. 

He  would  have  kissed  her  hand,  but  with  a  swift 
gesture  she  offered   her  cheek. 

"  Not  hands  to-day,  good  friend,"  she  said.  "  I  am  no 
more  a  princess,  but  my  husband's  wife.  They  cannot 
part  us  now,  can  they.  High  Chancellor?  I  have  gotten 
my  wish !  " 

"  Dear  lady,"  the  Chancellor  of  Plassenburg  answered 
gently,  "  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  have  observed  that 
Hymen  is  the  most  tricksome  of  the  divinities.  His 
omens  go  mostly  by  contraries.  Where  much  is  ex- 
pected, little  is  obtained.  When  all  men  speak  well  of 
a  wedding  and  all  the  prophets  prophesy  smooth  things 
—  my  fear  is  great.  But  be  of  good  cheer.  Though 
you  have  chosen  the  rough  road,  the  perilous  venture, 
the  dark  night,  the  deep  and  untried  ford,  you  will  yet 
come  out  on  a  plain  of  gladness,  into  a  day  of  sunshine, 
and  at  the  eventide  reach  a  home  of  content." 

242 


A  Wedding  without  a  Bridegroom 

"  So  good  a  fortune  from  so  wise  a  soothsayer  de- 
serves this  !  " 

And  she  kissed  the  Chancellor  frankly  on  the  mouth. 
"  Father  Clement,"  she  said,  turning  about  to  the  priest 
with  a  provocative  look  on  her  face,  "  have  you  a 
prophecy   for  us  worthy  a  like  guerdon  ?  " 

"  Avaunt,  witch  !  Get  thee  behind  me,  pretty  imp- 
ling  !  Tempt  not  an  old  man  to  forget  his  office,  or  I 
will  set  thee  such  a  penance  as  will  take  months  to  per- 
form." 

Nevertheless  his  face  softened  as  he  spoke.  He  saw 
too  plainly  the  perils  which  encompassed  Maurice  von 
Lynar  and  his  wife.  Yet  he  held  out  his  hand  benig- 
nantly  and  they  sank  on  their  knees. 

"  God  bring  you  through,  beloveds,"  he  said.  "  May 
He  send  His  angels  to  succour  the  faithful  and  punish 
the  guilty  !  " 

''  I  bid  you  fair  good-night !  "  said  Leopold  von  Des- 
~    sauer  at  the  threshold.      But  he  added  in  his  heart,  "  But 
alas  for  the  to-morrow  that  must  come  to  you  twain  !  " 

"  I  care  for  nothing  now  —  I  have  gotten  my  will  !  " 
said  the  Princess  Margaret,  nodding  her  head  to  the 
Father  as  he  went  out. 

She  was  standing  on  the  threshold  with  her  husband's 
hand  in  hers  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  that  which  no 
words  can  express. 

"  May  that  which  is  sweet  in  the  mouth  now  never 
prove  bitter  in  the  belly  '  " 

That  was  the  Father's  last  prayer  for  them. 

But  neither  Margaret  nor  Maurice  von  Lynar  so 
much  as  heard  him,  for  they  had  turned  to  one  another. 

For  the  golden  lamp  was  burning  itself  out,  and 
without  in  the  dark  the  Alia  said  "  Hush  ! "  like  a 
mother  who  soothes  her  children  to  sleep. 

243 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

LITTLE    JOHANNES    RODE 

"  T)UT  this  one   day,   beloved,"   the   Sparhawk   was 

-LI  saying.  "What  is  one  day  among  our  enemies? 
Be  brave,  and  then  we  will  ride  away  together  under 
cloud  of  night.  Von  Dessauer  will  help  us.  For  love 
and  pity  Prince  Hugo  of  Plassenburg  will  give  us  an 
asylum.  And  if  he  will  not,  by  my  faith,  Helene  the 
Princess  will  —  or  her  kind  heart  is  sore  belied!  Fear 
not  !  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  —  I  have  never  feared  anything  in 
my  life,"  answered  the  Princess  Margaret.  "  But  now 
I  fear  for  you.  I  would  give  all  I  possess  a  hundred 
times  over — nay  ten  years  of  my  life  —  if  only  you 
were  safe  out  of  this   Courtland  !  " 

"  It  will  not  be  long,"  said  the  Sparhawk  soothingly. 
"To-morrow  Von  Dessauer  goes  with  all  his  train. 
He  cannot,  indeed,  give  us  his  protection  till  we  are  past 
the  boundaries  of  the  State.  But  at  the  Fords  of  the 
Alia  we  must  await  him.  Then,  after  that,  it  is  but  a 
short  and  a  safe  journey.  A  few  days  will  bring  us  to 
the  borderlands  of  Plassenburg  and  the  Mark,  where  we 
are  safe  alike  from  prince  brother  and  prince  wooer." 

"  Maurice  —  I  would  it  were  so  indeed.  Do  you 
know  I  think  being  married  makes  one's  soul  frightened. 
The  one  you  love  grows  so  terrifyingly  precious.  It 
seems  such  a  long  time  since  I  was  a  wild  and   reckless 

244 


Little  Johannes  Rode 

girl,  flouting  those  who  spoke  of  love,  and  boasting  (oh, 
so  vainly  !)  that  love  would  never  touch  me.  I  used  to, 
not  so  long  ago,  though  you  would  not  think  it  now, 
knowing  how  weak  and   foolish   I   am." 

The  Sparhawk  laughed  a  little  and  glanced  fondly  at 
his  wife.  It  was  a  strange  look,  full  of  the  peculiar  joy 
of  man — and  that,  where  the  essence  of  love  dwells  in 
him,  is  his  sense  of  possession. 

"  Do  keep  still,"  said  the  Princess  suddenly,  stamping 
her  foot,  "  How  can  I  finish  the  arraying  of  your 
locks,  if  you  twist  about  thus  in  your  seat  ?  It  is  for- 
tunate for  you,  sir,  that  the  Duchess  Joan  wears  her  hair 
short  like  a  Northman  or  a  bantling  troubadour.  Other- 
wise you  could  not  have  gone  masquerading  till  yours 
had  grown  to  be  something  of  this  length." 

And,  with  the  innocent  vanity  of  a  woman  preferred, 
she  shook  her  head  backward  till  the  rich  golden  tresses, 
each  hair  distinct  and  crisp  as  a  golden  wire  of  infinite 
thinness,  fell  over  her  back  and  hung  down  as  low  as 
the  hollows  of  her  knees. 

"Joan  could  not  do  that,"  she  said  triumphantly. 

"  You  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world," 
said  the  Sparhawk,  with  appreciative  reverence,  trying 
to  rise  from  the  low  stool  in  front  of  the  Venice  mirror 
upon  which  he  was  submitting  to  having  his  toilet  super- 
intended —  for  the  first  time,  by  a  thoroughly  competent 
person. 

The  Princess  Margaret  bit  her  lip  vixenishly  in  a 
pretty  v/ay  she  had  when  making  a  pretext  of  being 
vexed,  at  the  same  time  sticking  the  little  curved  golden 
comb  she  was  using  upon  his  raven  locks  viciously  into 
his  head. 

"  Oh,  you  hurt  ! "  he  cried,  making  a  grimace  and 
pretending  in  his  turn. 

245 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  And  so  I  will  and  much  worse,"  she  retorted,  "  if 
you  do  not  be  still  and  do  as  I  bid  you.  How  can  a 
self-respecting  tire-woman  attend  to  her  business  under 
such  circumstances  ?  I  warn  you  that  you  may  engage 
a  new  maid." 

"  Wickedest  one  !  "  he  murmured,  gazing  fondly  up 
at  Margaret,  "  there  is  no  one  like  you  !  " 

"  Well,"  she  drolled,  "  I  am  glad  of  your  opinion, 
though  sorry  for  your  taste.  P'or  me,  I  prefer  the 
Lady  Joan." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

"  Because  she  is  like  you,  of  course  !  " 

•  •  •  •  •  k  • 

So,  on  the  verge  perilous,  lightly  and  foolishly  they 
jested,  as  all  those  who  love  each  other  do  (which  is  the 
only  wisdom),  while  the  green  Alia  sped  swiftly  on  to 
the  sea,  and  the  city  in  which  Death  waited  for  Maurice 
von  Lynar  began  to  hum  about  them. 

As  yet,  however,  there  fell  no  suspicion.  For  Mar- 
garet had  warned  her  bowermaidens  that  the  Princess 
Joan  would  need  no  assistance  from  them.  Her  own 
waiting-women  were  on  their  way  from  Castle  Kernsberg. 
In  any  case  she,  Margaret  of  Courtland,  would  help  her 
sister  in  person,  as  well  for  love  as  because  such  service 
was  the  guest's  right. 

And  the  Courtland  maidens,  accustomed  to  the  whims 
and  sudden  likings  of  their  impetuous  mistress,  glad  also 
to  escape  extra  duty,  hastened  their  task  of  arraying 
Margaret.  Never  had  she  been  so  restless  and  exacting. 
Her  toilet  was  not  half  finished  when  she  rose  from  her 
ebony  stool,  told  her  favourite  Thora  of  Bornholm  that 
she  was  too  ignorant  to  be  trusted  to  array  so  much  as 
the  tow-head  of  a  Swedish  puppet,  endued  herself  with- 
out assistance  with   a  long  loose  gown  cf  velvet  lined 

246 


Little  Johannes  Rode 

with  pale  blue  silk,  and  flashed  out  again  to  revisit  her 
sister-in-law. 

"  And  do  you,  Thora,  and  the  others,  wait  my  plea- 
sure in  the  anteroom,"  she  commanded  her  handmaidens 
as  she  swept  through  the  doorway.  "  Barter  love-com- 
pliments with  the  men-at-arms.  It  is  all  such  fumblers 
are  good  for  !  " 

Behind  her  back  the  tiring  maids  shrugged  shoulders 
and  glanced  at  each  other  secretly  with  lifted  eyebrow, 
as  they  put  gowns  and  broidered  slippers  back  in  their 
places,  to  signify  that  if  it  began  thus  they  were  in  for  a 
day  of  it.  Nevertheless  they  obeyed,  and,  finding  cer- 
tain young  gentlemen  of  Prince  Louis's  guard  waiting 
for  just  such  an  opportunity  without,  Thora  and  the 
others  proceeded  to  carry  out  to  the  letter  the  second 
part  of  the  instructions  of  their  mistress. 

"  How  now,  sweet  Thora  of  the  Flaxen  Locks  ?  " 
cried  Justus  of  Gratz,  a  slender  young  man  who  carried 
the  Prince's  banner-staff  on  saints'  days,  and  practised 
fencing  and  the  art  of  love  professionally  at  other  times, 
"  has  the  Princess  boxed  all  your  ears  this  morning,  that 
you  come  forth,  pell-mell,  like  a  flock  of  geese  out  of  a 
barn  when  the  farmer's  dog  is  after  them  ?  " 

There  were  three  under-ofiicers  of  the  guard  in  the 
little  courtyard.  Slim  Justus  of  Gratz,  his  friend  and 
boon  companion  Seydelmann,  a  man  of  fine  presence 
and  empty  head,  who  on  wet  days  could  curl  the  wings 
of  his  moustaches  round  his  ears,  and,  sitting  a  little 
apart  from  these,  little  Johannes  Rode,  the  only  very 
brave  man  of  the  three,  a  swordsman  and  a  poet,  yet 
one  who  passed  for  a  ninny  and  a  greenhorn  because  he 
chose  mostly  to  be  silent.  Nevertheless  Thora  of  Born- 
holm  preferred  him  to  all  others  in  the  palace.  For  the 
eyes   of  a  woman   are   quick  to   discern   manhood  —  so 

247 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

long,  that  is,  as  she  is  not  in  love.  After  that,  God 
wot,  there  is  no  eyeless  fish  so  blind  in  all  the  caverns 
of  the  Hartz. 

With  the  Northwoman  Thora  in  her  tendance  of  the 
Princess  there  were  joined  Anna  and  Pvlartha  Pappen- 
heim,  two  maids  quicker  of  speech  and  more  restless  in 
demeanour — Franconians  like  all  their  name,  of  their 
person  little  and  lithe  and  gay.  The  Princess  had 
brought  them  back  with  her  when  at  the  last  Diet  she 
visited  Ratisbon  with  her  brother. 

"  Ah,  Thora,  fairest  of  maids !  Hath  an  east  wind 
made  you  sulky  this  morning,  that  you  will  not  an- 
swer ? "  languished  Justus.  "  Then  I  warrant  so  are 
not  Anna  and  Martha.  My  service  to  you,  noble 
dames  I  " 

"  Noble  '■  dames,'  indeed  —  and  to  us  !  "  they  answered 
in  alternate  jets  of  speech.  "  As  if  we  were  applewomen 
or  the  fat  house- frows  of  Courtlandish  burghers.  Get 
away — you  have  no  manners!  You  sop  your  wits 
in  beer.  You  eat  frog's-meat  out  of  your  Baltic  marshes. 
A  dozen  dozen  of  you  were  not  worth  one  lively  lad  out 
of  sweet  Franconia  !  " 

"  Swe-e-et  Franconia ! "  mocked  Justus  ;  "  why  then 
did  you  not  stop  there  ?  Of  a  verity  no  lover  carried 
you  off  to  Courtland  across  his  saddle-bow,  that  I 
warrant  !  He  had  repented  his  pains  and  killed  his  horse 
long  ere  he  smelled  the  Baltic  brine." 

"The  most  that  such  louts  as  you  Courtlanders  could 
carry  off  would  be  a  screeching  pullet  from  a  farmyard, 
when  the  goodman  is  from  home.  There  is  no  spirit  in 
the  north  — save,  I  grant,  among  the  women.  There  is" 
our  Princess  and  her  new  sister,  the  lady  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand.  Where  will  you  see  their  match?  Small 
wonder  they   will  have  nothing  to  say  to  such  men   as 

248 


Little  Johannes  Rode 

they  can  find  hereabouts !  But  how  they  love  each 
other  !     'T  is  as  good  as  a  love-tale  to  see  them  —  " 

"  Ay,  and  a  very  miracle  to  boot !  "  interjected  Thora 
of  Bornholm. 

The  Pappenheims,  as  before,  went  on  antiphonally^ 
each  answering  and  anticipating  the  other. 

"  The  Princesses  need  not  any  man  to  make  them 
happy  !  Their  affection  for  each  other  is  past  telling," 
said  Martha. 

"  How  their  eyes  shine  when  they  look  at  each 
other  !  "  sighed  Anna,  while  Thora  said  nothing  for  a 
little,  but  watched  Johannes  Rede  keenly.  She  saw  he 
had  something  on  his  mind.  The  Northvv'oman  was  not 
of  the  mind  which  Anna  Pappenheim  attributed  to  the 
Princesses.  For  the  fair-skinned  daughters  of  the  Goth, 
beino;  wise,  hold  that  there  is  but  one  kind  of  love,  as 
there  is  but  one  kind  of  gold.  Also  they  believe  that 
they  carry  with  them  the  philosopher's  stone  wherewith 
to  procure  that  fine  ore.     After  a  while  Thora  spoke. 

"This  morning  it  was  'The  Princess  needs  not  your 
help  —  I  myself  will  be  her  tire-woman  ! '  I  wot 
Margaret  is  as  jealous  of  any  other  serving  the  Lady 
Joan  —  " 

"  As  you  would  be  if  we  made  love  to  Johannes  Rode 
there  !  "  laughed  Martha  Pappenheim,  getting  behind  a 
pillar  and  peeping  roguishly  round  in  order  that  the  poet 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  pretty  turn  of 
her  ankle. 

But  little  Johannes,  who  with  a  nail  was  scratching  a 
line  or  two  of  a  catch  on  a  stone,  hardly  even  smiled. 
He  minded  maids  of  honour,  their  gabble  and  their 
ankles,  no  more  than  jackdaws  crying  in  the  crevices  of 
the  gable — that  is,  all  except  Thora,  who  was  so  large 
and  fair  and  white  that  he  could  not  get  her  out  of  his 

249 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

mind.      But  even  with  Thora  of  Bornholm  he  did  his 
best. 

"  That  is  all  very  well  now"  put  in  vain  Fritz  Seydel- 
mann,  stroking  his  handsome  beard  and  smiling  vacantly  ; 
"but  wait  till  these  same  Princesses  have  had  husbands 
of  their  own  for  a  year.  Then  they  will  spit  at  each 
other  and  scratch  —  like  cats.  All  women  are  cats; 
and  maids  of  honour  the  worst  of  all  !  " 

"How  so,  Sir  Wiseman  —  because  they  do  not  like 
puppies  .?  You  have  found  out  that  ?  "  Anna  Pappen- 
heim  struck  back  demurely. 

"You  ask  me  why  maids  of  honour  are  like  cats," 
returned  Seydelmann,  complacently  (he  had  been  making 
up  this  speech  all  night).  "  Do  they  not  arch  their 
backs  when  they  are  stroked  ?  Do  they  not  purr  ? 
Have  you  not  seen  them  lie  about  the  house  all  day,  do- 
ing nothing  and  looking  as  saintly  as  so  many  abbots  at 
high  Mass!  But  at  night  and  on  the  tiles  —  phew! 
't  is  another  matter  then." 

And  the  vain,  moustached  Seydelmann,  who  plumed 
himself  upon  his  wit,  dragged  at  his  moustache  horns 
and  simpered  bovinely  down  upon  the  girls. 

Anna  Pappenheim  turned  to  Thora,  who  was  looking 
steadily  through  the  self-satisfied  Fritz,  much  as  if  she 
could  see  a  spider  crawling  on  the  wall  behind  him. 

"  Do  they  let  things  like  that  run  about  loose  here  in 
Courtland  ?  "  she  asked  with  some  anxiety  on  her  face, 
"  We  have  sties  built  for  them  at  home  in  Franconia  !  " 

But  Thora  was  in  no  mood  for  the  rough  jesting  of 
officers-in-waiting  and  princesses'  tirewomen.  She  con- 
tinued to  watch  the  spider. 

Then   little  Johannes  Rode  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  wager,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  the  Princesses  will 
be  less  inseparable  by  this  time  to-morrow." 

250 


Little  Johannes  Rode 


cc 


What  do  you  mean,  Johannes  Rode  ?  "  said  Thora, 
with  instant  challenge  in  her  voice,  turning  the  wide- 
eyed  directness  of  her  gaze  full  on  him. 

The  young  man  did  not  look  at  her.  He  merel\^ 
continued  the  carving  of  his  couplet  upon  the  lower  stone 
of  the  sundial,  whistling  the  air  as  he  did  so. 

"  Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  the  Muscovite  guard 
of  the  Prince  Ivan  have  packed  their  own  baggage 
(together  with  a  good  deal  that  is  not  their  own),  and  the 
minster  priests  are  warned  to  hold  themselves  at  the 
Prince's  bidding  all  day.  That  m.eans  a  wedding,  and  I 
warrant  our  noble  Louis  does  not  mean  to  marry  his 
Princess  all  over  again  in  'the  Dom-Kirch  of  Courtland. 
They  are  going  to  marry  the  Russ  to  our  Princess 
Margaret !  " 

Blond  Fritz  laughed  loud  and  long  and  tugged  at  his 
moustache. 

"  Out,  you  fool !  "  he  cried,  "  this  is  a  saint's  day  ! 
I  saw  it  in  the  chaplain's  Breviary.  The  Prince  goes  to 
shrive  himself,  and  right  wisely  he  judges.  I  would  not 
only  confess,  but  receive  extreme  unction  as  well,  before 
I  attempted  to  come  nigh  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  in 
the  way  of  love  !     What  say  you,  Justus  ?  " 

But  before  his  companion  could  reply,  Thora  of  Born- 
holm  had  risen  and  stolen  quietly  within. 


2^T 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

A    PERILOUS    HONEYMOON 

NEVER  was  day  so  largely  and  gloriously  blue 
since  Courtland  was  a  city  as  the  first  morning 
of  the  married  life  of  Maurice  and  Margaret  von  Lynar, 
Count  and  Countess  von  Loen.  The  summer  floods 
had  subsided,  and  the  tawny  dye  had  clean  gone  out  of 
the  Alia,  which  was  now  as  clear  as  aquamarine,  and 
laved  rather  than  fretted  the  dark  green  piles  of  the 
Summer  Palace. 

The  Princesses  (so  they  said  without)  were  more  than 
ever  inseparable.  They  were  constantly  talking  con- 
fidentially together,  for  all  the  world  like  schoolgirls 
with  a  secret.  Doubtless  Prince  Louis's  fair  sister  was 
persuading  the  unruly  wife  to  return  to  her  duty. 
Doubtless  it  was  so  —  ah,  yes,  doubtless  ! 

"  Better  Prince  Louis  should  do  his  own  embassage  in 
such  a  matter  in  his  proper  person,"  said  the  goodwives 
of  Thorn.  "  For  me,  I  would  not  listen  to  any  sister 
if  my  man  came  not  to  my  feet  himself.  The  Lady 
Joan  is  in  the  right  of  it  —  a  feckless  lover,  no  true 
man  !  " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  men,  agreeing  for  once,  "  a  paper- 
backed princeling  !  God  wot  were  it  our  Conrad  we 
should  soon  hear  other  of  it  !  There  would  be  none  of 
this  shilly-shallying  back-and-forth  work  then  !  We 
would  give  half  a  year's  income  in  golden  gulden  for  a 

2C2 


A  Perilous  Honeymoon 

lusty  heir  to  the  Principalities  —  with  that  foul  Muscov- 
ite Ivan  yearning  to  lay  the  knout  across  our  backs  !  " 

"  There  is  something  toward  to-day,"  said  a  decent 
widow  woman  who  lived  in  the  Konigstrasse  to  her 
neighbour.  "  My  son,  who  as  you  know  is  a  chorister, 
is  gone  to  practise  the  Wedding  Hymn  at  the  cathedral. 
I  am  going  thither  to  get  a  good  place.  I  will  not  miss 
it,  whatever  it  is.  Perhaps  they  are  going  to  make  the 
Princess  Joan  do  penance  for  her  fault,  in  a  white  sheet 
with  a  candle  in  her  hand  a  yard  long  !  That  would  be 
rare  sport.  I  would  not  miss  it  for  so  much  as  four 
farthings  !  " 

And  the  chorister's  motner  hobbled  off,  telling  every- 
body she  met  the  same  story.  And  so  in  half  an  hour 
the  news  had  spread  all  over  the  city,  and  there  began  to 
be  the  makings  of  quite  a  respectable  crowd  in  the  Dom 
Platz  of  Courtland. 

It  was  half-past  eleven  when  the  archers  of  the  guard 
appeared  at  the  entrance  of  the  square  which  leads  from 
the  palace.  Behind  them,  rank  upon  rank  could  be  seen 
the  lances  of  the  wild  Cossacks  of  Prince  Ivan's  escort 
who  had  remained  behind  when  the  Muscovite  army 
went  back  to  the  Russian  plains.  Their  dusky  goat's-hair 
tents,  which  had  long  covered  the  banks  of  the  Alia, 
had  now  been  struck  and  were  laded  upon  baggage- 
horses  and  sumpter  mules. 

"  The  Prince  of  Muscovy  delays  only  for  the  cere- 
mony, whatever  it  may  be  !  "  the  people  said,  admiring 
at  their  own  prevision. 

And  the  better  sort  added  privately,  "  We  shall  be 
well  rid  of  him  ! "  But  the  baser  grieved  for  the  loss  of 
the  largesse  which  he  scattered  abroad  in  good  Muscovite 
silver,  undipped  and  unalloyed,  with  the  mint-master's 
hammer-stroke  clean  and  clear  to  the  margin.      For  with 

253 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

such  Prince  Ivan  knew  how  to  make  himself  beloved, 
holding  man's  honour  and  woman's  love  at  the  price  of 
so  few  and  of  so  many  gold  pieces,  and  thinking  well  or 
ill  of  them  according  to  their  own  valuation.  The 
rabble  of  the  Courtland,  whose  price  was  only  silver, 
he  counted  as  no  better  than  the  trodden  dirt  of  the 
highway. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  river  parlour  of  the  Summer 
Palace,  the  two  Princesses  were  talking  together  even  as 
the  people  had  said.  The  Princess  Margaret  sat  on  a  low 
stool,  leaning  her  elbow  on  her  companion's  knee.  And 
though  she  sometimes  looked  away,  it  was  not  for  long, 
and  Maurice,  meeting  her  ever-recurrent  gaze,  found 
that  a  new  thing  had  come  into  her  eyes. 

Presently  a  low  tapping  was  heard  at  the  inner  door, 
from  which  a  passage  communicated  with  the  rooms  of 
the  Princess  Margaret.  The  Sparhawk  would  have 
risen,  for  the  moment  forgetful  of  his  disguise.  But 
with  a  slight  pressure  of  her  arm  upon  his  knee  the 
Princess  restrained  him. 

"Enter!"  she  called  aloud  in  her  clear,  imperious 
voice. 

Thora  entered  hurriedly  and,  closing  the  door  behind 
her,  she  stood  with  the  latch  in  her  hand.  "  My 
Princess,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  was  little  more  than 
a  whisper,  "  I  have  heard  ill  news.  They  are  making 
the  cathedral  ready  for  a  wedding.  The  Cossacks  have 
struck  their  tents.  I  think  a  plot  is  on  foot  to  marry 
you  this  day  to  Prince  Ivan,  and  to  carry  you  off  with 
him  to   Moscow." 

The  Sparhawk  sprang  to  his  feet  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  place  where  his  sword-hilt  should  have  been. 

"  Never,"  he  cried  j  "  it  is  impossible  !  The  Prin- 
cess is — " 

254 


A  Perilous  Honeymoon 

He  was  about  to  add,  "  She  is  married  already,"  but 
with  a  quick  gesture  of  warning  Margaret  stopped  him. 

"  Who  told  you  this  ?  "  she  queried,  turning  again  to 
Thora  of  Bornholm. 

"Johannes  Rode  of  the  Prince's  guard  told  me  a 
moment  ago,"  she  answered.  "  He  has  just  returned 
from  the  Muscovite  camp." 

"  I  thank  you,  Thora  —  I  shall  not  forget  this  faith- 
fulness, "  said  Margaret.  "  Now,  you  have  my  leave  to 
go  !  "  The  Princess  spoke  calmly,  and  to  the  ear  even 
a  little  coldly. 

The  door  closed  upon  the  Swedish  maiden.  Margaret 
and  Maurice  turned  to  each  other  with  one  pregnant 
instinct  and  took  hands. 

"  Already  !  "  said  Margaret  faintly,  going  back  into 
the  woman  ;  "  they  might  have  left  us  alone  a  little 
longer.  How  shall  we  meet  this  ?  What  shall  we  do  ? 
I  had  counted  on  this  one  day." 

"  Margaret,"  answered  the  Sparhawk  impulsively, 
"  this  shall  not  daunt  us.  We  would  have  told  your 
brother  Louis  one  day.  We  will  tell  him  now.  Duchess 
Joan  is  safe  out  of  his  reach,  Kernsberg  is  revictualled, 
the  Muscovite  army  returned.  There  is  no  need  to 
keep  up  the  masquerade  any  longer.  Whatever  may 
come  of  it,  let  us  go  to  your  brother.  That  will  end  it 
swiftlv,  at  all  events."  The  princess  put  away  his 
restraining  clasp  and  came  closer  to  him. 

"  No  —  no,"  she  cried  ;  "  vou  must  not.  You  do  not 
know  my  brother.  He  is  wholly  under  the  influence  of 
Ivan  of  Muscovy.  Louis  would  slay  you  for  having 
cheated  him  of  his  bride  —  Ivan  for  having  forestalled 
him  with  me." 

*'  But  you  cannot  marry  Ivan.  That  were  an  outrage 
against  the  laws  of  God  and  man  !  " 

255 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Marry  Ivan  !  "  she  cried,  to  the  full  as  impulsively 
as  her  lover  ;  "  not  though  they  set  ravens  to  pick  the  live 
flesh  ofF  my  bones  !  But  yet  the  thought  of  torture  and 
death  for  you  — that  I  cannot  abide.  We  must  continue 
to  deceive  them.     Let  me  think  !  — let  me  think  !  " 

Hastily  she  barred  the  door  which  led  out  upon  the 
corridor.  Then  taking  Maurice's  hand  once  more,  she 
led  him  over  to  the  window,  from  which  she  could  see 
the  green  Alia  cutting  its  way  through  the  city  bounds 
and  presently  escaping  into  the  yet  greener  corn  lands  on 
its  way  to  the  sea. 

"  It  is  for  this  one  day's  delay  that  we  must  plan.  To- 
night we  will  certainly  escape.  I  can  trust  certain  of 
those  of  my  household.  I  have  tried  them  before.  .  .  . 
I  have  it.  Maurice,  you  must  be  taken  ill  —  lie  down 
on  this  couch  away  from  the  light.  There  is  a  rumour 
of  the  Black  Death  in  the  city  —  we  must  build  on  that. 
They  say  an  Astrakhan  trader  is  dead  of  it  already.  For 
one  day  we  may  stave  it  off  with  this.  It  is  the  poor 
best  we  can  do.  Lie  down,  I  will  call  Thora.  She  is 
staunch  and  fully  to  be  trusted." 

The  Princess  Margaret  went  to  the  inner  door  and 
clapped  her  hands  sharply. 

The  fair-haired  Swedish  maiden  came  running  to  ber. 
She  had  been  waiting  on  such  a  signal. 

"  Thora,"  said  her  mistress  in  a  quick  whisper,  "  we 
must  put  off  this  marriage.  I  would  sooner  die  than 
marry  Ivan.  You  have  that  drug  you  spoke  of — that 
which  gives  the  appearance  of  sickness  unto  death  with- 
out the  reality.  The  Lady  Joan  must  be  ill,  very  ill. 
You  understand,  we  must  deceive  even  the  Prince's 
physicians." 

The  girl  nodded  with  quick  understanding,  and,  turn- 
ing, she  sped  away  up  the  inner  stair  to  her  own  sleeping- 

256 


A  Perilous  Honeymoon 

chamber,  the    key    of   which   (as    was    the    custom    in 
Courtland)  she  carried  in  her  pocket. 

"This  will  also  keep  you  from  being  suspected — ag 
in  public  places  you  would  have  been,"  whispered 
Margaret  to  her  young  husband.  "  What  Thora  thinks 
or  knows  does  not  matter.  I  can  trust  Thora  with  my 
life  —  nay,  with  what  is  far  more,  with  yours." 

A  light  tap  and  the  girl  re-entered,  a  tall  phial  in  her 
hand.  With  a  swift  look  at  her  mistress  to  obtain  per- 
mission, she  went  up  to  the  couch  upon  which  the  Spar- 
hawk  had  lain  down.  Then  with  deft  hand  she  opened 
the  bottle,  and  pouring  a  little  of  a  colorless  liquid  into 
a  cup  she  gave  it  him  to  drink.  In  a  few  minutes  a 
sickly  pallor  slowly  overspread  Maurice  von  Lynar's 
brow.  His  eyes  appeared  injected,  the  lips  paled  to  a 
grey  white,  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  the  forehead, 
and  his  whole  countenance  took  on  the  hue  and  ex- 
pression of  mortal  sickness. 

"  Now,  said  Thora,  when  she  had  finished,  "  will  the 
noble  lady  deign  to  swallow  one  of  these  pellicles,  and  in 
ten  minutes  not  a  leech  in  the  country  will  be  able  to  pro- 
nounce that  she  is  not  suffering  from  a  dangerous  disease." 

"  You  are  sure,  Thora,"  said  the  Princess  Margaret 
almost  fiercely,  laying  her  hand  on  her  tirewoman's 
wrist,  "  that  there  is  no  harm  in  all  this  ?  Remember, 
on  your  life  be  it !  " 

The  placid,  flaxen-haired  woman  turned  with  the  little 
silver  box  in  her  hand. 

"  Danger  there  is,  dear  mistress,"  she  said  softly,  "  but 
not,  I  think,  so  great  danger  as  we  are  already  in.  But 
I  will  prove  my  honesty  —  " 

She  took  first  a  little  of  the  liquid,  and  immediately 
after  swallowed  one  of  the  white  pellicles  she  had  given 
Maurice. 

17  257 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  It  will  be  as  well,"  she  said,  "  when  the  Prince's 
wiseacre  physicians  come,  that  they  should  find  another 
jicicening  of  the  same  disease." 

Thora  of  Bornholm  passed  about  the  couch  and  took 
up  a  waiting-maid's  station  some  way  behind. 

"  All  is  ready,"  she  said  softly, 

"We  will  forestall  them,"  answered  the  Princess. 
"Thora,  send  and  bid  Prince  Louis  come  hither 
quickly." 

"  And  shall  I  also  ask  him  to  send  hither  his  most 
skilled  doctors  of  healing  ? "  added  the  girl.  "  I  will 
despatch  Johannes  Rode.  He  will  go  quickly  and 
answer  as  1  bid  him  with  discretion  and  without  asking 
questions." 

And  with  the  noiseless  tread  peculiar  to  most  blonde 
women  of  large  physique,  Thora  disappeared  through  the 
private  door  by  which  she  had  entered. 

The  Princess  Margaret  kneeled  down  by  the  couch 
and  looked  into  the  face  of  the  Sparhawk,  Even  she  who 
bad  seen  the  wonder  was  amazed  and  almost  frightened 
by  the  ghastly  effect  the  drug  had  wrought  in  such  short 
space. 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  do  not  feel  any  ill  effects  — 
you  are  perfectly  well  ?  "  she  said,  with  tremulous  anxiety 
in  her  voice. 

The  Sparhawk  smiled  and  nodded  reassuringly  up  at 
her. 

"  Never  better,"  he  said.  "  My  nerves  are  iron,  my 
muscles  steel.  I  feel  as  if,  for  my  Margaret's  sake,  I 
could  vanquish  an   army  single-handed  !  " 

The  Princess  rose  from  her  place  and  unlocked  the 
main  door. 

"We  will  be  ready  for  them,"  she  said.  "All  must 
appear  as  though  we  had  no  motive  for  concealment." 

258 


A  Perilous  Honeymoon 

And,  having  drawn  the  curtains  somewhat  closer,  she 
kneeled  down  again  by  the  bed-head.  There  was  no 
sound  in  the  room  as  the  youthful  husband  and  wife  thus 
waited  their  fate  hand  in  hand,  save  only  the  soft  con- 
tinuous sibilance  of  their  whispered  converse,  and  from 
without  the  deeper  note  of  the  Alia  sapping  the  Palace 
walls. 


259 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE    BLACK    DEATH 

THE  Princes  of  Courtland  and  Muscovy,  inseparable 
as  the  Princesses,  were  on  the  pleasant,  creeper- 
shaded  terrace  which  looks  over  the  rose-garden  of  the 
palace  of  Courtland  down  upon  the  blue  sea  plain  of  the 
Baltic,  now  stretching  blue  black  from  verge  to  verge 
under  the   imminent   sun  of  noon. 

Prince  Louis  moved  restlessly  to  and  fro,  now  biting 
his  lip,  now  frowning  and  fumbling  with  his  sword-hilt, 
anon  half  drawing  his  jewelled  dagger  from  its  sheath 
and  allowing  it  to  slip  back  again  with  the  faintly  musi- 
cal click  of  perfectly  fitting  steel.  Ivan  of  Muscovy,  on 
the  other  hand,  lounged  listlessly  in  the  angle  of  an 
embrasure,  alternately  contemplating  his  red-pointed  toes 
shod  in  Cordovan  leather,  and  glancing  keenly  from 
under  his  eyelids  at  his  nervous  companion  as  often  as 
his  back  was  turned  in  the  course  of  his  ceaseless 
perambulation. 

"  You  would  desert  me,  Ivan,"  Prince  Louis  was 
saying,  in  a  tone  at  once  appealing  and  childishly  aggres- 
sive ;  "  you  would  leave  me  in  the  hour  of  my  need. 
You  would  take  away  from  me  my  sister  Margaret,  who 
alone  has  influence  with  the  Princess,  my  wife  !  " 

"  Btft  you  do  not  try  to  court  the  lady  with  any  proper 
fervour,"  objected  Ivan,  half  humouring  and  half  irritat- 
ing his  companion  ;  "  you  observe  none  of  the  rules. 
Speak   her  soft,   praise    her   eyelashes  —  surely  they  are 

«6o 


The  Black  Death 

worthy  of  all  praise ;  give  her  a  pet  lamb  for  a  playmate. 
Feed  her  with  conserves  of  honey  and  spice.  Surely 
such  comfits  would  mollify  even  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand  !  " 

"  Tush  !  — you  flout  me,  Ivan  —  even  you.  Every- 
one despises  me  since  —  since  she  flouted  me.  The 
woman  is  a  tigress,  I  tell  you.  Every  time  she  looks  at 
me  her  eyes  flick  across  me  like  a  whip-lash  !  " 

"  That  is  but  her  maiden  modesty.  How  often  is  it 
assumed  to  cover  love ! "  murmured  Ivan,  demurely 
smiling  at  his  shoe  point,  which  nodded  automatically 
before  him.  "  So  doth  the  glance  of  my  sweet  bride  of 
to-day,  your  own  sister  Margaret.  To  all  seeming  she 
loves  me  as  little  as  the  Lady  Joan  does  you.  Yet  I  am 
not  afraid.  I  know  women.  Before  I  have  her  a 
month  in  Moscow  she  will  run  that  she  may  be  allowed 
to  pull  my  shoes  off^  and  on.  She  will  be  out  of  breath 
with  hasting  to  fetch  my  slippers  —  together  with  other 
little  domestic  offices  of  that  sort,  all  very  profitable  for 
women's  souls  to  perform.  Take  pattern  by  me,  Louis, 
and  teach  the  tigress  to  bring  your  shoes  and  tie  your 
hose  points.  In  a  little  while  she  will  like  it  and  hold 
up  her  cheek  to  be  kissed  for  a  sufficient  reward." 

At  this  point  an  officer  came  swiftly  across  the  par- 
terre and  stood  with  uncovered  head  by  the  steps  of  the 
terrace,  waiting  for  permission  to  ascend.  The  Prince 
summoned  him  with  a  movement  of  his  hand. 

''  What  news  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  have  the  ladies  yet  left 
the  summer  palace  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord,"  answered  the  officer  earnestly  ;  "but 
Johannes  Rode  of  the  Princess  Margaret's  household 
has  come  with  a  message  that  the  plague  has  broken 
out  there,  and  that  the  Lady  Princess  is  the  first 
stricken." 

261 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Which  Princess  ?  "  demanded  Ivan,  with  an  instant 
incision  of  tone. 

"  The  Lady  Joan,  Princess  of  Courtland,  your  High- 
ness," replied  the  man,  without,  however,  looking  at  the 
Prince  of  Muscovy. 

"  The  Lady  Joan,"  cried  the  Prince  Louis,  "  she  is 
ill  ?  She  has  brought  the  Black  Death  with  her  ?  She 
is  stricken  with  the  plague  ?  How  fortunate  that,  so 
far,  I_" 

He  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  brow  and  shut  his  eyes 
as  if  giving  thanks. 

"  I  see  it  all  now  !  "  he  cried.  "  This  is  the  reason 
the  Kernsberg  traitors  were  so  willing  to  give  her  up. 
It  is  all  a  plot  against  my  life.  I  will  not  go  near.  Let 
the  court  physicians  be  sent !  Cause  the  doors  of  the 
Summer  Palace  to  be  sealed  !  Set  double  guards ! 
Permit  none  to  pass  either  way,  save  the  doctors  only ! 
And  let  them  change  their  clothes  and  perfume  them- 
selves with  the  smoke  of  sulphur  before  they  come 
put !  " 

His  voice  mounted  higher  and  higher  as  he  spoke, 
and  Ivan  of  Muscovy  watched  him  without  speaking,  as 
with  hands  thrust  out  and  distended  nostrils  he  screamed 
and  gesticulated. 

Prince  Ivan  had  never  seen  a  thorough  coward  before, 
and  the  breed  interested  him.  But  when  he  had  let  the 
Prince  run  on  far  enough  to  shame  him  before  his 
officer,  he  rose  quietly  and  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"  Louis,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  listen  to  me  — 
this  is  but  a  report.  It  is  like  enough  to  be  false ;  it  is 
certain  to  be  exaggerated.  Let  us  go  at  once  and  find 
out." 

Prince  Louis  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  gesture  oi 
despair. 

262 


The  Black  Death 

"  Not  I  —  not  I  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  may  go  if  you 
like,  if  you  do  not  value  your  life.  But  I  —  I  do  not 
feel  well  even  nov\^.  Yesterday  I  kissed  her  hand.  Ah, 
would  to  God  that  I  had  not !  That  is  it.  I  wondered 
what  ailed  me  this  morning.  Go  —  stop  the  court 
physicians  !  Do  not  let  them  go  to  the  Summer  Pal- 
ace;  bring  them  here  to  me  first.  Your  arm,  officer; 
I  think  I  will  go  to  my  room —  I  am  not  well." 

Prince  Ivan's  countenance  grew  mottled  and  greyish, 
and  his  teeth  showed  in  the  sun  like  a  thin  line  of 
dazzling  white.  He  grasped  the  poltroon  by  the  wrist 
with  a  hand  of  steel. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  —  "  no  more  of  this  ;  I  will  not 
have  it !  I  will  not  waste  my  own  time  and  the  blood 
of  my  father's  soldiers  for  naught.  This  is  but  some 
woman's  trick  to  delay  the  marriage  —  I  know  it. 
Hearken  !  I  fear  neither  Black  Death  nor  black  devil ; 
I  will  have  the  Lady  Margaret  to-day  if  I  have  to  wed 
her  on  her  deathbed  !  Now,  I  cannot  enter  your  wife's 
chamber  alone.  Yet  go  I  must,  if  only  to  see  what  all 
this  means,  and  you  shall  accompany  me.  Do  you  hear, 
Prince  Louis  ?  I  swear  you  shall  go  with  me  to  the 
Summer  Palace,  if  I  have  to  drag  you  step  by  step  !  " 

His  grasp  lay  like  a  tightening  circle  of  iron  about 
the  wrist  of  Prince  Louis  ;  his  steady  glance  dominated 
the  weaker  man.  Louis  drew  in  his  breath  with  a 
choking  noise. 

"  I  will,"  he  gasped  ;  "  if  I  must  —  I  will  go.  But 
the  Death  —  the  Black  Death  !  I  am  sick  —  truly,  Ivan, 
I  am  very  sick  !  " 

"  So  am  I  !  "  said  Prince  Ivan,  smiling  grimly.  "  But 
bring  his  Highness  a  cup  of  wine,  and  send  hither 
Alexis  the  Deacon,  my  own  physician." 

The    officer    went  out    cursing    the   Muscovite    ears 

263 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

that  had  listened  to  such  things,  and  also  high  Heaven 
for  giving  such  a  Prince  to  his  fatherland. 

•  •••••• 

Prince  Ivan  and  Prince  Louis  stood  at  the  door  of 
the  river  parlour.  The  peculiar  moving  hush  and 
tepidly  stagnant  air  of  a  sick  room  penetrated  even 
through  the  panels.  Ivan  still  kept  hold  of  his  friend, 
but  now  by  the  hand,  not  compulsively,  but  rather 
like  one  u^ho  in  time  of  trouble  comforts  another's 
sorrow. 

At  either  end  of  the  corridor  could  be  seen  a  guard  of 
Cossacks  keeping  it  against  all  intrusion  from  without  or 
exodus  from  within.  So  Prince  Ivan  had  ordered  it. 
His  fellows  were  used  to  the  plague,  he  said. 

At  the  Princess's  door  Prince  Ivan  tapped  gently  and 
inclined  his  ear  to  listen.  Louis  fumbled  with  his  golden 
crucifix,  and  as  the  Muscovite  turned  away  his  head  he 
pressed  it  furtively  to  his  lips.  Ever  since  he  set  foot 
in  the  Summer  Palace  he  had  been  muttering  the  prayers 
of  the  Church  in  a  rapid  undertone. 

"  Prince  Louis  to  see  the  Princess  Joan ! "  Ivan 
answered  the  low-voiced  challenge  from  within.  The 
door  opened  slightly  and  then  more  widely.  Ivan 
pushed  his  friend  forward  and  they  entered,  Louis  drag- 
ging one  foot  after  the  other  towards  the  shaded  couch 
by  which  knelt  the  Princess  Margaret.  Thora  of  Born- 
holm,  pallid  and  blue-lipped,  stood  beside  her,  swaying  a 
little  but  still  holding,  half  unconsciously,  a  silver  basin, 
into  which  Margaret  dipped  a  fine  linen  cloth,  before 
touching  with  it  the  foam-flecked  lips  of  the  sufferer. 
Prince  Ivan  remained  a  little  back,  near  to  where  the 
court  physicians  were  conferring  together  in  stage  whis- 
pers. As  he  passed,  a  tall,  grey-skirted,  long-bearded 
man,  girt  about  the  middle  with  a  silver  chain,  detached 

264 


The  Black  Death 

himself  from  the  official  group  and  approached  Prince 
Ivan.  After  an  instinctive  cringing  movement  of  hom- 
age and  salutation,  he  bent  to  the  young  man's  ear  and 
whispered  half  a  dozen  words.  Prince  Ivan  nodded 
very  slightly  and  the  man  stole  away  as  he  had  come. 
No  one  in  the  room  had  noticed  the  incident. 

Meanwhile  Louis  of  Courtland,  almost  as  pale  as 
Thora  herself,  his  lips  blue,  his  teeth  chattering,  his 
fingers  clammy  with  perspiration,  stood  by  the  bedside 
clutching  the  crucifix.  Presently  a  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  arm.      He  started  violently  at  the  touch. 

"It  is  true  —  a  bad  case,"  said  Ivan  in  his  ear. 
"  Let  us  get  away  ;  I  must  speak  with  you  at  once. 
The  physicians  have  given  their  verdict.  They  can  do 
nothing !  " 

With  a  gasp  of  relief  Prince  Louis  faced  about,  and 
as  he  turned  he  tottered. 

"  Steady,  friend  Louis  !  "  said  Prince  Ivan  in  his  ear 
and  passed  his  arm  about  his  waist. 

He  began  to  fear  lest  he  should  have  frightened  his 
dupe  too  thoroughly. 

"  See  how  he  loves  her  !  "  murmured  the  doctors  of 
healing,    still     conferring     with     their     heads     together. 
Who  would  have  believed  it  possible  .?  " 

Nay,  he  is  only  much  afraid,"  said  Alexis  the 
Deacon,  the  Muscovite  doctor  ;  "  and  small  blame  to 
him,  now  that  the  Black  Death  has  come  to  Courtland. 
In  half  an  hour  we  shall  hear  the  death-rattle !  " 

"  Then  there  is  no  need  of  us  staying,"  said  more 
than  one  learned  doctor,  and  they  moved  softly  towards 
the  door.  But  Ivan  had  possessed  himself  of  the  key, 
and  even  as  the  hand  of  the  first  was  on  the  latchet  bar 
the  bolt  was  shot  in  his  face.  And  the  eyes  of  Alexis 
the  Deacon  glowed    between   his   narrow   red   lids    like 

265 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

sparks  in  tinder  as  he  glanced  at  the  whitening  faces  of 
the  learned  men  of  Courtland. 

Without  the  door  Ivan  fixed  Prince  Louis  wich  his 
will. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  speaking  in  low,  trenchant  tones, 
"  if  this  be  indeed  the  Black  Death  (and  it  is  like  it), 
there  is  no  safety  for  us  here.  We  must  get  without 
the  walls.  In  an  hour  there  will  be  such  a  panic  in  the 
city  as  has  not  been  for  centuries.  I  offer  you  a  way 
of  escape.  My  Cossacks  stand  horsed  and  ready  with- 
out. Let  us  go  with  them.  But  the  Princess  Margaret 
must  come  also  !  " 

"She  cannot  —  she  cannot.  I  will  not  permit  it. 
She  may  already  be  infected  !  "  gasped  Prince  Louis. 

"  There  is  no  infection  till  the  crisis  of  the  disease  is 
passed,"  said  Prince  Ivan  firmly.  "  We  have  had 
many  plagues  in  Holy  Russia,  and  know  the  symptoms." 

("Indeed,"  he  added  to  himself,  "my  physician, 
Alexis  the  Deacon,  can  produce  them  !  ") 

"But  —  but  —  but  —  "  Louis  still  objected,  "the 
Princess  Joan  —  she  may  die.  That  will  reflect  upon 
my  honour  if  we  all  desert  her.  My  sister  will  continue 
to  attend  her.  They  are  friends.  I  will  go  with  you 
.   .  .   Margaret  can  remain  and  nurse  her !  " 

A  light  like  a  spear  point  glittered  momentarily  under 
the  dark  brows  of  the  Muscovite. 

"Listen,  Prince  Louis,"  he  said.  "Your  honour  is 
your  honour.  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  and  her  Black 
Plagues  are  your  own  affair.  She  is  your  wife,  not 
mine.  I  have  helped  you  to  get  her  back  —  no  more. 
But  the  Princess  Margaret  is  my  business.  I  have 
bought  her  with  a  price.  And  look  you,  sir,  I  will  not 
ride  back  to  Russia  empty-handed,  that  every  petty  boyar 
and  starveling  serf  may  scoff  at  me  saying,  '  He  helped 

266 


The  Black  Death 

tfe  Prince  of  Courtland  to  win  his  wife,  but  he  could 
noi  bring  back  one  himself.'  The  whole  city,  the 
whole  country  from  here  to  Moscow  know  for  what 
cause  I  have  so  long  sojourned  in  your  capital.  Now, 
Prince  Louis,  will  you  have  me  go  as  your  friend  or  as 
your  enemy  ?  " 

"  Ivan  —  Ivan,  you  are  my  friend.  Do  not  speak  to 
me  so  !     Who  else  is  my  friend  if  you  desert  me  ?  " 

"  Then  give  me  your  sister  !  " 

The  Prince  cast  up  his  hand  with  a  little  gesture  of 
despair. 

"  Ah,"  he  sighed,  "  you  do  not  know  Margaret  ! 
She  is  not  in  my  gift,  or  you  should  have  had  her  long 
ago  !  Oh,  these  troubles,  these  troubles  !  When  will 
they  be  at  an  end  ?  " 

"  They  are  at  an  end  now,"  said  Prince  Ivan  con- 
solingly. "  Call  your  sister  out  of  the  chamber  on  a 
pretext.  In  ten  minutes  we  shall  be  at  the  cathedral 
gates.  In  another  ten  she  and  I  can  be  wedded  ac- 
cording to  your  Roman  custom.  In  half  an  hour  we 
shall  all  be  outside  the  walls.  If  you  fear  the  infection 
you  need  not  once  come  near  her.  I  will  do  all  that  is 
necessary.  And  what  more  natural  ?  We  will  be 
gone  before  the  panic  breaks  —  you  to  one  of  your 
hill  castles  —  if  you  do  not  wish  to  come  with  us  to 
Moscow." 

"  And  the   Princess   Joan  —  ?  "  faltered   the   coward. 

"  She  is  in  good  hands,"  said  the  Prince,  truthfully  for 
once.  "  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honour  she  is  in  no 
danger.      Call  your  sister  !  " 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  tapped  lightly,  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock  and  whispered,  "  Now  !  "  to  the  Prince  of 
Courtland. 

"  Tell  the   Princess    Margaret    I    would    speak    with 

267 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

her  !  "  said  Prince  Louis.  "  For  a  moment  only!  "  h< 
added,  fearing  that  otherwise  she  might  not  come. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  sick  chamber  and  then  qaick 
steps  were  heard  coming  lightly  across  the  floor.  The 
face  of  the  Princess  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said  haughtily  to  her  brother.  Prince 
Ivan  she  did  not  see,  for  he  had  stepped  back  into  the 
dusk  of  the  corridor.      Louis  beckoned  his  sister  without. 

"  I  must  speak  a  word  with  you,"  he  said.  "  I  would 
not  have  these  fellows  hear  us  !  "  She  stepped  out  un- 
suspectingly. Instantly  the  door  was  closed  behind  her. 
A  dark  figure  slid  between.  Prince  Ivan  turned  the  key 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  Help  !  "  she  cried,  struggling  ;  "  help  me  !  For 
God's  grace,  let   me    go  !  " 

But  from  behind  came  four  Cossacks  of  the  Princes' 
retinue  who  half-carried,  half-forced  her  along  towards 
the  gates  at  which  the  Muscovite  horses  stood  ready 
saddled.  And  as  Margaret  was  carried  down  the  passage 
the  alarmed  servitors  stood  aloof  from  her  cries,  seeing 
that  Prince  Louis  himself  was  with  her.  Yet  she  cried 
out  unceasingly  in  her  anger  and  fear,  "  To  me  men  of 
Courtland  !  The  Cossacks  carry  me  off —  I  will  not 
go !  O  God,  that  Conrad  were  here  !  I  will  not  be 
silent !      Maurice,  save  me  !  " 

But  the  people  only  shrugged  their  shoulders  even 
when  they  heard  —  as  did  also  the  guards  and  the  gentle- 
men-in-waiting, the  underlings  and  the  very  porters  at 
the  Palace  gates.  For  they  said,  "  They  are  strange 
folk,  these  Courtland  princes  and  princesses  of  ours,  with 
their  marriages  and  givings  in  marriage.  They  can 
neither  wed  nor  bed  like  other  people,  but  must  betaken 
by  force.      Well  —  happily  it  is   no    business   of  ours  !  " 

Then  at  the  stair  foot  she  sank  down  by   the  sundial, 

268 


The  Black  Death 

almost  fainting  with  the  sudden  alarm  and  fear,  crying 
for  the  last  time  and  yet  more  piercingly,  "  Maurice ! 
Maurice  !  Come  to  me,  Maurice  !  "  Then  above  them 
in  the  Palace  there  began  a  mighty  clamour,  the  noise  of 
blows  stricken  and  the  roar  of  many  voices.  But  Ivan 
of  Muscovy  was  neither  to  be  hurried  nor  flurried.  Im- 
passive and  determined,  he  swung  himself  into  the  sad- 
dle. His  black  charger  changed  his  feet  to  take  his 
weight  and  looked  about  to  welcome  him  —  for  he,  too, 
knew  his  master. 

"  Give  the  Princess  to  me,"  he  commanded.  "  Now 
assist  Prince  Louis  into  his  saddle.  To  the  cathedral, 
all  of  you  !  " 


CHAPTER    i^XXVII 

THE    DROPPINs*    OF    A    CLOAK 

AND  SO,  with  the  mounted  guard  of  his  own  Cos- 
sacks before  him  and  behind,  Prince  Ivan  carried 
his  bride  to  church  through  the  streets  of  her  native  city. 
And  the  folic  thrgnged  and  marvelled  at  this  new  custom 
of  marrying  But  none  interfered  by  word  or  sign,  and 
the  obsequious  rabble  shouted,  "  Long  live  Prince 
Ivan  !  " 

Even  some  of  the  better  disposed,  who  had  no  liking 
for  the  Muscovite  alliance,  said  within  their  hearts,  look- 
ing at  the  calm,  set  face  of  the  Prince,  "  He  is  a  man  ! 
Would  to  God  tha'  our  own  Prince  were  more  like 
him  !  " 

Also  many  women  nodded  their  heads  and  ran  to  find 
their  dearest  gossips.  "  You  will  see,"  they  said  ;  "  this 
one  will  have  no  ridings  away.  He  takes  his  wife  before 
him  upon  his  saddle-bow  as  a  man  should.  And  she 
will  pretend  that  she  does  not  like  it.  But  secretly  — 
ah,  we  know  !  " 

And  they  smiled  at  each  other.  Por  there  is  that 
in  most  women  which  will  never  be  civilised.  They 
love  not  men  who  walk  softly,  and  still,  in  their  heart 
of  hearts,  they  prefer  to  be  wooed  by  the  primitive 
method  of  capture.  For  if  a  woman  be  not  afraid  of  a 
man  she  will  never  love  him  truly.  And  that  is  a  true 
word  among  all  peoples. 

2;o 


The  Dropping  of  a  Cloak 

So  they  came  at  last  to  the  Dom  and  the  groups  of 
wondering  folk,  thinly  scattered  here  and  there — women 
mostly.  For  there  had  been  such  long  delay  at  the 
Summer  Palace  that  the  men  had  gone  back  to  their 
cooperage  tubs  or  were  quaffing  tankards  in  the  city  ale- 
cellars. 

The  great  doors  of  the  cathedral  had  been  thrown 
wide  open  and  the  leathern  curtains  withdrawn.  The 
sun  was  checkering  the  vast  tesselated  pavement  with 
blurs  of  purple,  red,  and  glorious  blue,  shot  through  the 
western  window  of  the  nave.  In  gloomy  chapel  and 
recessed  nook  marble  princes  and  battered  crusaders  of 
the  line  of  Courtland  seemed  to  blink  and  turn  their  faces 
to  the  wall  away  from  the  unaccustomed  glare.  The 
altar  candles  and  the  lamps  a-swing  in  the  choir  winked 
no  brighter  than  yellow  willow  leaves  seen  through  an 
autumnal  fog.  But  as  the  cortege  dismounted  the  organ 
began  to  roll,  and  the  people  within  rose  with  a  hush  like 
that  which  follows  the  opening  of  a  window  at  night 
above  the  Alia. 

The  sonorous  diapason  of  the  great  instrument  dis- 
gorged itself  through  the  doorway  in  wave  upon  wave  of 
sound.  The  Princess  Margaret  found  herself  again  on 
her  feet,  upheld  on  either  side  by  brother  and  lover.  She 
was  at  first  somewhat  dazed  with  the  rush  of  accumulate 
disasters.  Slowly  her  mind  came  back.  The  Dom 
Platz  whirled  more  slowly  about  her.  With  a  fresh- 
dawning  surprise  she  heard  the  choir  sing  within.  She 
began  to  understand  the  speech  of  men.  The  great 
black  square  of  the  opening  doorway  slowed  and  finally 
stopped  before  her.  She  was  on  the  steps  of  the  cathe- 
dral. What  had  come  to  her  ?  Was  it  the  Duchess 
Joan's  wedding  day }  Surely  no !  Then  what  was 
the  matter  ?      Had  she  fainted  ? 

271 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Maurice  —  where  was  Maurice  ?  She  turned  about. 
The  small,  glittering  eyes  of  Prince  Ivan,  black  as  sloes, 
were  looking  into  hers.  She  remembered  now.  It  was 
her  own  wedding.  These  two,  her  brother  and  her 
enemy,  were  carrying  out  their  threat.  They  had  brought 
her  to  the  cathedral  to  wed  her,  against  her  will,  to  the 
man  she  hated.  But  they  could  not.  She  would  tell 
them.  Already  she  was  a  —  but  then,  if  she  told  them 
that,  they  would  ride  back  and  kill  him.  Better  that  she 
should  perjure  herself,  condemn  herself  to  hell,  than  that. 
Better  anything  than  that.  But  what  was  she  to  do? 
Was  ever  a  poor  girl  so  driven  ? 

And  there,  in  the  hour  of  her  extremity,  her  eye  fell 
upon  a  young  man  in  the  crowd  beneath,  a  youth  in  a 
'prentice's  blue  jerkin.  He  was  passing  his  arm  softly 
about  a  girl's  waist  —  slily  also,  lest  her  mother  should  see. 
And  the  maid,  first  starting,  with  a  pretence  of  not  know- 
ing whence  came  the  pressure,  presently  looked  up  and 
smiled  at  him,  nestling  a  moment  closer  to  his  shoulder 
before  removing  his  hand,  only  to  hold  it  covertly  under 
her  apron  till  her  mother  showed  signs  of  turning 
round. 

"  Ah  !  why  was  I  born  a  princess  ?  "  moaned  the  poor 
driven  girl. 

"  Margaret,  vou  must  come  with  us  into  the  cathe- 
dral." It  was  the  voice  of  her  brother.  "  It  is  neces- 
sary that  the  Prince  should  wed  you  now.  It  has  too 
long  been  promised,  and  now  he  can  delay  no  longer. 
Besides,  the  Black  Death  is  in  the  city,  and  this  is  the 
only  hope  of  escape.      Come  !  " 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Margaret's  tongue  to  cry  out  with 
wild  words,  even  as  she  had  done  at  the  door  of  the 
river  parlour.  But  the  thought  of  Maurice,  of  the  torture 
and  the  death,  silenced   her.     She   Ufted  her  eyes,  and 

272 


The  Dropping  of  a  Cloak 

there,  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  were  the  dignitaries  of  the 
cathedral  waiting  to  lead  the  solemn  procession. 

"  I  will  go  !  "  she  said. 

And  at  her  words  the  Prince  Ivan  smiled  under  his 
thin  moustache. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  her  brother's  arm  and  began  the 
ascent  of  the  long;  flight  of  stairs.  But  even  as  she  did 
so,  behind  her  there  broke  a  wave  of  sound  —  the  cry- 
ing of  many  people,  confused  and  multitudinous,  like 
the  warning  which  runs  along  a  crowded  thoroughfare 
when  a  wild  charger  escaped  from  bonds  threshes  along 
with  frantic  flying  harness.  Then  came  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs,  the  clang  of  doors  shut  in  haste  as  decent 
burghers  got  them  in  out  of  harm's  way  !  And  lo  !  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps,  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  a  cloak, 
the  sick  Princess  Joan,  she  whom  the  Black  Death  had 
stricken,  leaped  from  her  foaming  steed,  and  drawing 
sword  followed  fiercely  up  the  stairway  after  the  marriage 
procession.  The  Cossacks  of  the  Muscovite  guard 
looked  at  each  other,  not  knowing  whether  to  stand  in 
her  way  or  no. 

"  The  Princess  Joan  !  "  they  said  from  one  to  the 
other. 

''Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  !  "  whispered  the  burghers 
of  Courtland.  "  The  disease  has  gone  to  her  brain. 
Look  at  the  madness  in   her  eye  !  " 

And  their  lips  parted  a  little  as  is  the  wont  of  those 
who,  having  come  to  view  a  comedy,  find  themselves 
unexpectedly  In  the  midst  of  high  tragedy. 

"  Hold,  there  !  "  the  pursuer  shouted,  as  she  set  foot 
on  the  lowest  step. 

"  Lord  !     Surely  that  is  no  woman's  voice  !  "   whis- 
pered the  people  who  stood  nearest,  and  their  lower  jaws 
dropped  a  little  further  in  sheer  wonderment. 
i8  273 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

The  Princes  turned  on  the  threshold  of  the  cathedral, 
with  Margaret  still  between  them,  the  belly  of  the  church 
black  behind  them,  and  the  priests  first  halting  and  then 
peering  over  each  other's  shoulders  in  their  eagerness 
to  see. 

Up  the  wide  steps  of  the  Dom  flew  the  tall  woman 
in  the  flowing  cloak.  Her  face  was  pallid  as  death,  but 
her  eyes  were  brilliant  and  her  lips  red.  At  the  sight 
of  the  naked  sword  Prince  Ivan  plucked  the  blade  from 
his  side  and  Louis  shrank  a  little  behind  his  sister. 

"  Treason  !  "  he  faltered.  "  What  is  this  ?  Is  it 
sudden  madness  or  the  frenzy  of  the  Black  Death  ?  " 

"  The  Princess  Margaret  cannot  be  married  '.  "  cried 
the  seeming  Princess.  "  To  me,  Margaret !  I  will 
slay  the  man  who  lays  a  hand  on  you  !  " 

Obedient  to  that  word,  Margaret  of  Courtland  broke 
from  between  her  brother  and  Prince  Ivan  and  ran  to 
the  tall  woman,  laying  her  brow  on  her  breast.  The 
Prince  of  Muscovy  continued  calm  and  immovable. 

"  And  why  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  tone  full  of  contempt. 
*'  Why  cannot  the  Princess  Margaret  be  married  ?  " 

''  Because,"  said  the  woman  in  the  long  cloak,  finger- 
ing a  string  at  her  neck,  "she  is  married  already.  I  am 
her  husband  !  " 

The  long  blue  cloak  fell  to  the  ground,  and  the  Spar- 
hawk,  clad  in  close-fitting  squire's  dress,  stood  before 
their  astonished  eyes. 

A  long,  low  murmur,  gathering  and  sinking,  surged 
about  the  square.  Prince  Louis  gasped.  Margaret 
clung  to  her  lover's  arm,  and  for  the  space  of  a  score 
of  seconds  the  whole  world  stopped  breathing. 

Prince  Ivan  twisted  his  moustache  as  if  he  would  pull 
it  out  by  the  roots. 

"  So,"    he  said,   "  the    Princess    is    married,  is    she  ? 

274 


The  Dropping  of  a  Cloak 

And  you  are  her  husband  ?  '  Whom  God  hath  joined  ' 
—  and  the  rest  of  it.     Well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see  !  " 

He  spoke  gently,  meditatively,  almost  caressingly. 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  Sparhawk  defiantly,  "  we  were 
married  yesterday  by  Father  Clement,  the  Prince's  chap- 
lain, in  the  presence  of  the  most  noble  Leopold  von 
Dessauer,   High   Councillor  of  Plassenburg !  " 

"  And  my  wife  —  the  Princess  Joan,  where  is  she  ?  " 
gasped  Prince  Louis,  so  greatly  bewildered  that  he  had 
not  yet  begun  to  be  angry. 

Ivan  of  Muscovy  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Gently,  friend,"  he  said  ;  "  1  will  unmask  this 
play-acting  springald.  This  is  not  your  wife,  not  the 
woman  you  wedded  and  fought  for,  not  the  Lady  Joan 
of  Hohenstein,  but  some  baseborn  brother,  who,  having 
her  face,  hath  played  her  part,  to  mock  and  cheat  and 
deceive  us  both  !  " 

He  turned  again  to  Maurice  von  Lynar. 

"  I  think  we  have  met  before.  Sir  Masquer,"  he  said, 
with  his  usual  suave  courtesy ;  "  I  have,  therefore,  a 
double  debt  to  pay.  Hither  ! "  He  beckoned  to  the 
guards  who  lined  the  approaches.  "  I  presume,  sir,  so 
true  a  courtier  will  not  brawl  before  ladies.  You  recog- 
nise that  you  are  in  our  power.     Your  sword,  sir !  " 

The  Sparhawk  looked  all  about  the  crowded  square. 
Then  he  snapped  his  sword  over  his  knee  and  threw  the 
pieces  down  on  the  stone  steps. 

"  You  are  right,  I  will  not  fight  vainly  here,"  he  said. 
"  1  know  it  is  useless.  But  "  —  he  raised  his  voice  — 
*' be  it  known  to  all  men  that  my  name  is  Maurice, 
Count  von  Loen,  and  that  the  Princess  Margaret  is  my 
lawfully  wedded  wife.  She  cannot  then  marry  Ivan  of 
Muscovy !  " 

The  Prince  laughed  easily  and  spread  his  hand  with 

■«75; 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

gentle  deprecation,  as  the  guards  seized  the  Sparhawk 
and  forced  him  a  little  space  from  the  clinging  hands  of 
the  Princess. 

"  I  am  an  easy  man,"  he  said  gently,  as  he  clicked  his 
dagger  to  and  fro  in  its  sheath.  "  When  I  like  a 
woman,  I  would  as  lief  marry  her  widow  as  maid  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE    RETURN    OF    THE    BRIDE 

«  pRINCE  LOUIS,"  continued  Ivan,  turning  to  the 

A  Prince,  "we  are  keeping  these  holy  men  need- 
lessly, as  well  as  disappointing  the  good  folk  of 
Courtland  of  their  spectacle.  There  is  no  need  that  we 
should  stand  here  any  longer.  We  have  matters  to  dis- 
cuss with  this  gentleman  and  his  wife.  Have  I  your 
leave  to  bring  them  together  in  the  palace  ?  We  may 
have  something  to  say  to  them  more  at  leisure." 

But  the  Prince  of  Courtland  made  no  answer.  His 
late  fears  of  the  Black  Death,  the  astonishing  turn  affairs 
had  taken,  the  discovery  that  his  wife  was  not  his  wife, 
the  slowly  percolating  thought  that  his  invasion  of 
Kernsberg,  his  victories  there,  and  his  triumphal  re-entry 
into  his  capital,  had  been  in  vain,  united  with  his  absorb- 
ing fear  of  ridicule  to  deprive  him  of  speech.  He 
moved  his  hand  angrily  and  began  to  descend  the  stairs 
towards  the  waiting  horses. 

Prince  Ivan  turned  towards  Maurice  von  Lynar. 

"  You  will  follow  under  escort  of  these  gentlemen  of 
my  staff,"  he  said  with  smiling  equality  of  courtesy  ; 
"  there  is  no  need  to  discuss  intimate  family  affairs 
before  half  the  rabble  of  Courtland." 

He  bowed  to  Maurice  as  if  he  had  been  inviting  him 
to  a  feast.  Maurice  looked  about  the  crowded  square, 
over  the  pennons  of  the  Cossacks.     He  knew  there  was 

277 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

no  hope  either  in  flight  or  in  resistance.  All  the 
approaches  to  the  square  had  been  filled  up  with  armed 
men. 

"  I  will  follow  !  "  he  answered  briefly. 
The  Prince  swept  his  plumed  hat  to  the  ground. 
"  Nay,"  he  said  ;  "  lead,  not    follow.     You   must  go 
with  your  wife.     The  Prince  of  Muscovy -does  not  pre- 
cede a  lady,  a  princess  —  and  a  bride  !  " 

So  it  came  about  that  Margaret,  after  all,  descended 
the  cathedral  steps  on  her  husband's  arm. 

And  as  the  cavalcade  rode  back  to  the  palace  the 
Princess  rode  in  the  midst  between  the  Sparhawk  and 
Prince  Wasp,  Louis  of  Courtland  pacing  moodily  ahead, 
his  reins  loose  on  his  horse's  neck,  his  chin  on  his  breast, 
while  the  rabble  cried  ever,  "  Largesse  !  largesse  !  "  and 
ran  before  them  casting  brightly  coloured  silken  scarves 
in  the  way. 

Then  Prince  Ivan,  summoning  his  almoner  to  his 
"side,  took  from  him  a  bag  of  coin.  He  dipped  his  hand 
deeply  in  and  scattered  the  coins  with  a  free  hand,  cry- 
ing loudly,  "To  the  health  and  long  life  of  the  Princess 
Margaret  and  her  husband !  Health  and  riches  and 
ofi^spring  !  " 

And  the  mob  taking  the  word  from  him  shouted  all 
along  the  narrow  streets,  "  To  the  Princess  and  her 
husband  !  " 

But  from  the  hooded  dormers  of  the  city,  from  the 
gable  spy-holes,  from  the  narrow  windows  of  Baltic  stair- 
case-towers, the  good  wives  of  Courtland  looked  down 
to  see  the  great  folk  pass.  And  their  comment  was  not 
that  of  the  rabble.  "  Married,  is  she  ?  "  they  said 
among  themselves.  "  Well,  God  bless  her  comely 
face !  It  minds  me  of  my  own  wedding.  But,  by  my 
faith,  I  looked   more  at  my  Fritz  than  she  doth  at  the 

278 


The  Return  of  the  Bride 

Muscovite.  I  declare  all  her  eyes  are  for  that  handsome 
lad  who  rides  at  her  left  elbow  — " 

"  Nay,  he  is  not  handsome  —  look  at  his  face.  It  is 
as  white  as  a  washen  clout  hung  on  a  line.  Who  can 
he  be  ?  " 

"  Minds  me  o'  the  Prince's  wife,  the  proud  lady  that 
flouted  him,  mightily,  he  doth  —  I  should  not  wonder  if 
he  were  her  brother." 

"  Yes,  by  my  faith,  dame — hast  hit  it  !  So  he  doth. 
And  here  was  I  racking  my  brains  to  think  where  I  had 
seen  him  before,  and  then,  after  all,  I  never  had  seen 
him  before  !  " 

"  A  miracle  it  is,  gossip,  and  right  pale  he  looks  ! 
Yet  I  should  not  wonder  if  our  Margaret  loves  him  the 
most.  Her  eyes  seek  to  him.  Women  among  the  great 
are  not  like  us.  They  say  they  never  like  their  own 
husbands  the  best.  What  wouldst  thou  do,  good  neigh- 
bour Bette,  if  I  loved  your  Hans  better  than  my  own  stu- 
pid old  Fritz  ?  Pull  the  strings  off  my  cap,  dame,  say'st 
thou  ?  That  shows  thee  no  great  lady.  For  if  thou 
wast  of  the  great,  thou  wouldst  no  more  than  wave  thy 
hand  and  say, '  A  good  riddance  and  a  heartsome  change,' 
and  begin  to  make  love  to  the  next  young  lad  that  came  by 
with  his  thumbs  in  his  armholes  and  a  feather  in  his  cap  ! " 

"And  what  o'  the  childer  —  the  house  —  bairns  — 
what  o'  them  ?  With  all  this  mixing  about,  what  comes 
o'  them,  answer  me,  good  dame  ?  " 

"What,  Gossip  Bette  —  have  you  never  heard? 
The  childer  of  the  great  they  suck  not  their  own 
mothers'  milk — they  are  not  dandled  in  their  own 
mothers'  arms.  They  learn  not  their  duty  from 
their  mothers'  lips.  When  they  are  fractious,  a  stranger 
beats  them  till  they  be  good  —  " 

"Ah,"    cried   the   court  of  matrons  all  in  unison,  "I 

279 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

would  like  to  catch  one  of  the  fremit  lay  a  hasd  on  my 
Karl  —  my  Kirstem  —  that  I  would  !  I  would  comb 
their  hair  for  them,  tear  the  pinner  off  their  backs  —  that 
I  would  !     And  I  !     And  I !  " 

"  Nay,  good  gossips  all,"  out  of  the  chorus  the  voice 
of  the  dame  learned  in  the  ways  of  the  great  asserted 
itself;  "that  again,  proves  you  no  better  than  burgherish 
town-folk  —  not  truly  of  the  noble  of  the  land.  For  a 
right  great  lady,  when  she  meets  a  foster-nurse  with  a 
baby  at  the  breast,  will  go  near,  and  say  —  I  have  heard 
'em — '  La  !  the  pretty  thuig  —  a  poppet  !  Well-a-well, 
't  is  pretty,  for  sure  !     And  whose  baby  may  this  be  ? ' 

"  '  Thine  own,  lady,  thine  own  !  '  " 

At  this,  long  and  loud  echoed  the  derision  of  the  good 
wives  of  Courtland.  Their  gossip  laughed  and  asserted. 
But  no,  they  would  not  hear  a  word  more.  She  had 
overstepped   the   limit  of  their  belief. 

"  What,  not  to  know  her  child  —  her  own  flesh  and 
blood  .i*  Out  on  her!"  cried  every  mother  who  about 
her  neck  had  felt  the  clasp  of  tiny  hands,  or  upon  her 
breast  the  easing  pressure  of  little  blind  lips.  "  Good 
dame,  no ;  you  wili  not  hoodwink  us.  Were  she  deaf 
and  dumb  and  doated,  a  mother  would  yet  know  her 
child.  'Tis  not  in  nature  else!  Well,  thanks  be  to 
Mary  Mother !  she  who  knew  both  wife-pain  and 
mother-joy,  we,  at  least,  are  not  of  the  great.  We  must 
hush  our  own  bairns  to  sleep,  dance  with  them  when 
they  frolic,  and  correct  them  when  they  are  naughty- 
minded.  Nevertheless,  a  good  luck  go  with  our  lady 
this  day  !  May  she  have  many  fair  children  and  a  hus- 
band to  love  her  even  as  if  she  were  a  common  woman 
and  no  princess  !  " 

So    in   little  jerks   of  blessing  and   with  much  head- 
shaking  the   good    wives    of  Courtland  continued,  long 

280 


The  Return  of  the  Bride 

after  the  last  Cossack  lance  with  its  fluttering  pennon 
had  been  lost  to  view  down  the  winding  street. 

For,  indeed,  well  might  they  thank  the  Virgin  and 
their  patron  saints  that  they  were  not  as  the  poor  Prin- 
cess Margaret,  and  that  their  worst  troubles  concerned 
only  whether  their  Hans  or  Fritz  tarried  a  little  over- 
long  in  the  town  wine-cellars,  or  wagered  the  fraction  of 
a  penny  too  much  on  a  neighbour's  cock-fight,  and  so 
returned  home  somewhat  crusty  because  the  wrong  bird 
had  won  the  main. 

•  •••••• 

But  in  the  Prince's  palace  other  things  were  going 
forward.  Hitherto  we  have  had  to  do  with  the  summer 
palace  by  the  river,  a  building  of  no  strength,  and  built 
more  as  a  pleasure  house  for  the  princely  family  than  as 
a  place  of  permanent  habitation.  But  the  Castle  of 
Courtland   was   a  structure  of  another    sort. 

Set  on  a  low  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  its  walls 
rose  continuous  with  its  foundations,  equally  massive 
and  impregnable,  to  the  height  of  over  seventy  feet. 
For  the  first  twenty-five  neither  window  nor  grating 
broke  the  grim  uniformity  of  that  mighty  wall  of  rock. 
Above  that  line  only  a  few  small  openings  half-closed 
with  iron  bars  evidenced  the  fact  that  a  great  prince  had 
his  dwelling  within.  The  main  entrance  to  the  Castle 
was  through  a  gateway  closed  by  a  grim  iron-toothed 
portcullis.  Then  a  short  tunnel  led  to  another  and  yet 
stronger  defence  —  a  deep  natural  fosse  which  surrounded 
the  rock  on  all  sides,  and  over  which  a  drawbridge  con- 
ducted into  the  courtyard  of  the  Castle. 

The  Sparhawk  knew  very  well  that  he  was  going  to 
his  death  as  he  rode  through  the  streets  of  the  city  of 
Courtland,  but  none  would  have  discovered  from  his 
bearing  that  there  was  aught  upon    his  mind  of  graver 

28  I 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

concern  than  the  fit  of  a  doublet  or,  perhaps,  the  favour 
of  a  pretty  maid-of-honour.  But  with  the  Princess 
Margaret  it  was  different.  In  these  last  crowded  hours 
she  had  quite  lost  her  old  gay  defiance.  Her  whole 
heart  was  fixed  on  Maurice,  and  the  tears  would  not  be 
bitten  back  when  she  thought  of  the  fate  to  which  he 
was  going  with  so  manly  a  courage  and  so  fine  an  air. 

They  dismounted  in  the  gloomy  courtyard,  and 
Maurice,  slipping  quickly  from  his  saddle,  caught 
Margaret  in  his  arms  as  she  dropped  nervously  from 
the  saddle.  She  clung  to  him  closely,  knowing  that  it 
might  be  for  the  last  time. 

,  "  Maurice,  Maurice,"  she  murmured,  "  can  you  for- 
give me  ?      I  have  brought  you  to  this  !  " 

"Hush,  sweetheart,"  he  answered  in  her  ear;  "be 
my  own  dear  Princess.  Do  not  let  them  see.  Be  my 
brave  girl.     They  cannot  divide  our  love  !  " 

"  Come,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  the  dulcet  voice  of 
Prince  Ivan  behind  them ;  "  I  would  not  for  all  Courts 
land  break  in  upon  the  billing  and  cooing  of  such  turtle- 
doves, were  it  not  that  their  affection  blinds  them  to  the 
fact  that  the  men-at-arms  and  scullions  are  witnesses  to 
these  pretty  demonstrations.  Tarry  a  little,  sweet 
valentines  —  time  and  place  wait  for  all  things." 

The  Princess  commanded  herself  quickly.  In  another 
moment  she  was  Margaret  of  Courtland. 

"  Even  the  Prince  of  Muscovy  might  spare  a  lady  his 
insults  at  such  a  time  !  "  she  said. 

The  Prince  bared  his  head  and  bowed  low. 

"  Nay,"  he  said  very  courteously  ;  "  you  mistake. 
Princess  Margaret.  I  insult  you  not.  I  may  regret 
your  taste — but  that  is  a  different  matter.  Yet  even 
that  may  amend.  My  quarrel  is  with  this  gentleman, 
and  it  is  one  of  some  standing,  I  believe." 

282 


The  Return  of  the  Bride 

"  My  sword  is  at  your  service,  sir !  "  said  Maurice 
von  Lynar,  firmly. 

"  Again  you  mistake,"  returned  the  Prince  more 
suavely  than  ever  ;  "  you  have  no  sword.  A  prisoner, 
and  (if  I  may  say  so  without  offence)  a  spy  taken  red- 
hand,  cannot  fight  duels.  The  Prince  of  Courtland 
must  settle  this  matter.  When  his  Justicer  is  satisfied, 
I  shall  most  willingly  take  up  my  quarrel  with  —  whatever 
is  left  of  the  most  noble  Count  Maurice  von  Lynar." 

To  this  Maurice  did  not  reply,  but  with  Margaret 
still  beside  him  he  followed  Prince  Louis  up  the  narrow 
ancient  stairway  called  from  its  shape  The  Couch,  into  the 
gloomy  audience  chamber  of  the  Castle  of  Courtland. 

They  reached  the  hall  and  then  at  last,  as  though 
restored  to  power  by  his  surroundings,  Prince  Louis 
found   his  tongue. 

"  A  guard  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  hither,  Berghoff,  Kampen- 
feldt !  Conduct  the  Princess  to  her  privy  chamber  and 
do  not  permit  her  to  leave  it  without  my  permission. 
I  would  speak  with  this  fellow  alone." 

Ivan  hastily  crossed  over  to  Prince  Louis  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear. 

In  the  meantime,  ere  the  soldiers  of  the  guard  could 
approach,  Margaret  cried  out  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  "  I 
take  you  all  to  witness  that  I,  Margaret  of  Courtland,  am 
the  wife  of  this  man,  Maurice  von  Lynar,  Count  von 
Loen.  He  is  mv  wedded  husband,  and  I  love  him  with 
all  my  heart  !  " 

"You  have  forgotten  the  rest,  fair  Princess,"  sug- 
gested Prince  Ivan,  subtly  —  "  ////  death  you  do  part  !  " 


283 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

PRINCE    WASP    STINGS 

MARGARET  did  not  answer  her  tormentor's  taunt. 
Her  arms  went  about  Maurice's  neck,  and  her 
lips,  salt  with  tears,  sought  his  in  a  last  kiss.  The 
officer  of  the  Prince's  guard  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 
She  shook  him  haughtily  off,  and  then,  having  completed 
her  farewells,  she  loosened  her  hands  and  went  slowly 
backward  towards  the  further  end  of  the  hall  with  her 
eyes  still  upon  the  man  she  loved. 

"  Stay,  BerghofF,"  said  Prince  Louis  suddenly  ;  "  let 
the  Princess  remain  where  she  is.  Cross  your  swords 
in  front  of  her.  I  desire  that  she  shall  hear  what  1  have 
to  say  to  this  young  gentleman." 

"And  also,"  added  Prince  Ivan,  "I  desire  the  noble 
Princess  to  remember  that  this  has  been  granted  by  the 
Prince  upon  my  intercession.  In  the  future,  it  may 
gain  me  more  of  her  favour  than  I  have  had  the  good 
fortune  to  enjoy  in  the  past !  " 

Maurice  stood  alone,  his  tall,  slender  figure  supple 
and  erect.  One  hand  rested  easily  upon  his  swordless 
thigh,  while  the  other  still  held  the  plumed  hat  he  had 
snatched  up  as  in  frantic  haste  he  had  followed  Margaret 
frorn  the  summer  palace. 

There  ensued  a  long  silence  in  which  the  Sparhawk 
eyed  his  captors  haughtily,  while  Prince  Louis  watched 
him  from  under  the  grey  penthouse  of  his  eyebrows. 

284 


Prince  Wasp  Stings 

Then  three  sev^eral  times  the  Prince  essayed  to  speak, 
and  as  often  utterance  was  choked  within  him.  His 
feelings  could  only  find  vent  in  muttered  imprecations, 
half  smothered  by  a  deeper  rage.  Then  Prince  Ivan 
crossed  over  and  laid  his  hand  restrainingly  on  his  arm. 
The  touch  seemed  to  calm  his  friend,  and,  after  swal- 
lowing several  times,  at  last  he  spoke. 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life  Maurice  von  Lynar 
stood  alone  among  his  enemies  :  but  this  time  in  peril 
far  deadlier  than  among  the  roisterous  pleasantries  of 
Castle  Kernsberg.  Yet  he  was  as  little  daunted  now  as 
then.  Once  on  a  time  a  girl  had  saved  him.  Now  a 
princess  loved  him.  And  even  if  she  could  not  save 
him,  still  that  was  better. 

"  So,"  cried  Prince  Louis,  in  the  curiously  uneven 
voice  of  a  coward  lashing  himself  into  a  fury,  "  you  have 
played  out  your  treachery  upon  a  reigning  Prince  of 
Courtland.  You  cheated  me  at  Castle  Kernsberg,  you 
have  made  me  a  laughing-stock  throughout  the  empire. 
You  have  shamed  a  maiden  of  my  house,  my  sister,  the 
daughter  of  my  father.  What  have  you  to  say  ere  I 
order  you  to  be  flung  out  from  the  battlements  of  the 
western  tower  ?  " 

"  Ere  it  comes  to  that  I  shall  have  something  to  say, 
Prince  Louis,"  interrupted  Prince  Wasp,  smiling.  "  We 
must  not  waste  such  dainty  powers  of  masquerade  on 
anything  so  vulgar  as  the  hangman's  rope." 

"  Gentlemen  and  Princes,"  Maurice  von  Lynar  an- 
swered, "  that  which  I  have  done  I  have  done  for  the 
sake  of  my  mistress,  the  Lady  Joan,  and  I  am  not  afraid. 
Prince  Louis,  it  was  her  will  and  intent  never  to  come 
to  Courtland  as  your  wife.  She  would  not  have  been 
taken  alive.  It  was  therefore  the  duty  of  her  servants 
to  preserve  her  life,  and  I  offered  myself  in  her  stead, 

2S5 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

My  lift  was  hers  already,  for  she  had  preserved  it.  She 
had  given.  It  was  hers  to  take.  With  the  chief  cap- 
tains of  Kernsberg  1  plotted  that  she  should  be  seized 
and  carried  to  a  place  of  refuge  wherein  no  foe  could 
ever  find  her.  There  she  abides  with  chosen  men  to 
guard  her.  I  took  her  place  and  was  delivered  up  that 
Kernsberg  might  be  cleared  of  its  enemies.  Gladly  I 
came  that  I  might  pay  a  little  of  my  debt  to  my  sovran 
lady  and  liege  mistress,  Joan  Duchess  of  Kernsberg  and 
Hohenstein." 

"  Nobly  perorated  !  "  cried  Prince  Ivan,  clapping  his 
hands.  "  Right  sonorously  ended.  Faith  !  a  paladin,  a 
deliverer  of  oppressed  damsels,  a  very  carnival  masquer- 
ader.  He  will  play  you  the  dragon,  this  fellow,  or  he 
will  act  Saint  George  with  a  sword  of  lath.  He  will 
amble  as  the  hobby-horse,  or  be  the  Holy  Virgin  in  a 
miracle  play.  Well,  he  shall  play  in  one  more  good 
scene  ere  I  have  done  with  him.  But,  listen,  Sir 
Mummer,  in  all  this  there  is  no  word  of  the  Princess 
Margaret.  How  comes  it  that  you  loudly  proclaim  hav- 
ing given  yourself  a  noble  sacrifice  for  one  fair  lady, 
when  at  the  same  time  you  are  secretly  married  to  an- 
other ?  Are  you  a  deliverer  of  ladies  by  wholesale  ? 
Speak  to  this  point.  Let  us  have  another  noble  period 
—  its  subject  my  affianced  bride.  Already  we  have 
heard  of  your  high  devotion  to  Prince  Louis's  wife. 
Well— next!" 

But  it  was  the  Princess  who  spoke  from  where  she 
stood  behind  the  crossed  swords  of  her  guards. 

"That  /will  answer.  I  am  a  woman,  and  weak  in 
your  hands.  Princes  both.  You  have  set  the  grasp  of 
rude  men-at-arms  upon  the  wrists  of  a  Princess  ot  Court- 
land.  But  you  can  never  compel  her  soul.  Brother 
Louis,  my  father  committed   me  to  you  as  a  little  child 

286 


Prince  Wasp  Stings 

. —  have  I  not  been  a  loving  and  a  faithful  sister  to  you  ? 
And  till  this  Muscovite  came  between  were  you  not 
good  to  me  ?  Wherefore  have  you  changed  ?  Why 
has  he  made  you  cruel  to  your  little  Margaret  ?  " 

Prince  Louis  turned  towards  his  sister,  moving  his 
hands  uncertainly  and  even  deprecatingly. 

Ivan  moved  quickly  to  his  side  and  whispered  some- 
thing, which  rekindled  the  light  of  anger  in  the  weak- 
ling's eyes. 

"  You  are  no  sister  of  mine,"  he  said ;  "  you  have 
disgraced  your  family  and  yourself  Whether  it  be  true 
or  no  that  you  are  married  to  this  man  matters  little  !  " 

"  It  is  true ;  I  do  not  lie  !  "  said  Margaret,  recovering 
herself. 

"  It  is  the  worse,  then,  and  he  shall  suffer  for  it.  At 
least  1  can  hide  —  I  cannot  prevent  your  shame  !  " 

"  I  will  never  give  him  up  ;  nothing  on  earth  shall 
part  our  love  !  " 

Prince  Ivan  smiled  sweetly,  turning  to  where  she 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"  Sweet  Princess,"  he  said,  "  divorce  is,  I  understand, 
contrary  to  your  holy  Roman  faith.  But  in  my  land 
we  have  discovered  a  readier  way  than  any  papal  bull. 
Be  good  enough  to  observe  this  "  —  he  held  a  dagger  in 
his  hand.  "  It  is  a  little  blade  of  steel,  but  a  span  long, 
and  narrow  as  one  of  your  dainty  fingers,  yet  it  will 
divorce  the  best  married   pair  in  the  world." 

"  But  neither  dagger  nor  the  hate  of  enemies  can 
sever  love,"  Margaret  answered  proudly.  "  You  may 
slay  my  husband,  but  he  is  mine  still.  You  cannot 
twain  our  souls." 

The  Prince  shrugged  his  shoulder  and  opened  his 
palms  deprecatingly. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  twaining 

287 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

your  bodies.  In  holy  Russia  we  are  plain  men.  We  have 
a  saying,  ^No  one  hath  ever  seen  a  soul.  Let  the  body 
content  you  ! '  When  this  gentleman  is  —  what  I  shall 
make  him,  he  is  welcome  to  any  communion  of  spirits 
to  which  he  can  attain  with  you.  I  promise  you  that,  so 
far  as  he  is  concerned,  you  shall  find  me  neither  exigent 
lover  nor  jealous  husband  !  " 

The  Princess  looked  at  Maurice.  Her  eyes  had  dwelt 
defiantly  on  the  Prince  of  Muscovy  whilst  he  was  speak- 
ing, but  now  a  softer  light,  gentle,  yet  brave,  crept  into 
them. 

"  Fear  not,  my  husband,"  she  said.  "  If  the  steel 
divide  us,  the  steel  can  also  unite  us.  They  cannot 
watch  so  close  or  so  long  that  I  cannot  find  a  way. 
Or,  if  iron  will  not  pierce,  fire  burn,  or  water  drou'n,  I 
have  a  drug  that  will  open  the  door  which  leads  to  you. 
Fear  not,  dearest,  I  shall  meet  you  unashamed,  and  as 
your  loyal  wife,  without  soil  or  stain,  will  look  into  your 
true  eyes." 

"I  declare  you  have  taught  her  the  trick  of  words!  " 
cried  the  Prince  delightedly.  "Count von Loen, the  Lady 
Margaret  has  quite  your  manner.     She  speaks  to  slow 


music." 


But  even  the  sneers  of  Prince  Ivan  could  not  filch 
the  greatness  out  of  their  loves,  and  Prince  Louis  was 
obviously  wavering,  Ivan's  quick  eye  noted  this  and  he 
instantly  administered  a  fillip. 

"  Are  you  not  moved,  Louis  ?  "  he  said.  "  How 
shamelessly  hard  is  your  heart !  This  handsome  youth, 
whom  any  part  sets  like  a  wedding  favour  and  fits  like 
his  own  delicate  skin,  condescends  to  be  your  kinsman. 
Where  is  your  welcome,  your  kinsmanlike  manners  ? 
Go,  fall  upon  his  neck  !  Kiss  him  on  either  cheek.  Is 
he  not  your  heir  ?     He  hath  only  sequestrated  your  wife, 

288 


Prince  Wasp  Stings 

married  your  sister.  Your  only  brother  is  a  childless 
priest.  There  needs  only  your  decease  to  set  him  on 
the  throne  of  the  Princedom.  Give  him  time.  How 
easily  he  has  compassed  all  this  !  He  will  manage  the 
rest  as  easily.  And  then  —  listen  to  the  shouting  in  the 
streets.  I  can  hear  it  already.  '  Long  live  Maurice 
the  Bastard,  Prince  of  Courtland  ! '  " 

And  the  Prince  of  Muscovy  laughed  loud  and  long. 
But  Prince  Louis  did  not  laugh.  His  eyes  glared  upon 
the  prisoner  like  those  of  a  wild  beast  caught  in  a  corner 
when  it  wishes  to  flee  but  cannot. 

"He  shall  die  —  this  day  shall  be  his  last.  I  swear 
it !  "  he  cried.  "  He  hath  mocked  me,  and  1  will  slay 
him  with  my  hand." 

He  drew  the  dagger  from  his  belt.  But  in  the  centre 
of  the  hall  the  Sparhawk  stood  so  still  and  quiet  that 
Prince  Louis  hesitated.  Ivan  laid  a  soft  hand  upon  his 
wrist  and  as  gently  drew  the  dagger  out  of  his  grasp. 

"Nay,  my  Prince,  we  will  give  him  a  worthier  pass- 
ing than  that.  So  noble  a  knight-errant  must  die  no 
common  death.  What  say  you  to  the  Ukraine  Cross, 
the  Cross  of  Steeds  ?  I  have  here  four  horses,  all  wild 
from  the  steppes.  This  squire  of  dames,  this  woman- 
mummer,  hath,  as  now  we  know,  four  several  limbs. 
By  a  strange  coincidence  I  have  a  wild  horse  for  each  of 
these.  Let  limbs  and  steeds  be  severally  attached,  my 
Cossacks  know  how.  Upon  each  flank  let  the  lash  be 
laid — and  —  well,  the  Princess  Margaret  is  welcome  to 
her  liege  lord's  soul.  I  warrant  she  will  not  desire  his 
body  any  more." 

At  this  Margaret  tottered,  her  knees  giving  way 
beneath  her,  so  that  her  guards  stood  nearer  to  catch  her 
if  she  should  fall. 

"  Louis  —  my  brother,"  she  cried,  "  do  not  listen  to 
19  289 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

the  monster.  Kill  my  husband  if  you  will  —  because  I 
love  him.  But  do  not  torture  him.  By  the  last  words 
of  our  mother,  by  the  memory  of  our  father,  by  your 
faith  in  the  Most  Pitiful  Son  of  God,  I  charge  you  —  do 
not  this  devilry." 

Prince  Ivan  did  not  give  Louis  of  Courtland  time  to 
reply  to  his  sister's  appeal. 

"  The  most  noble  Princess  mistakes,"  he  murmured, 
suavely.  "  Death  by  the  Cross  of  Steeds  is  no  torture. 
It  is  the  easiest  of  deaths.  I  have  witnessed  it  often.  In 
my  country  it  is  reserved  for  the  greatest  and  the  most 
distinguished.  No  common  felon  dies  by  the  Cross  of 
Steeds,  but  men  whose  pride  it  is  to  die  greatly.  We 
will  show  you  to-morrow  on  the  plain  across  the  river 
that  I  speaic  the  truth.  It  is  a  noble  sight  and  all  Court- 
land  shall  be  there.  What  say  you,  Louis?  Shall  this 
springald  seat  himself  in  your  princely  chair,  or  —  shall 
we  try  the  Cross  of  the  Ukraine  ?  " 

"  Have  it  your  own  way.  Prince  Ivan  !  "  said  Louis, 
and  went  out  without  another  word.  The  Muscovite 
stood  a  moment  looking  from  Maurice  to  Margaret  and 
back  again.   He  was  smiling  his  inscrutable  Oriental  smile. 

"  The  Prince  has  given  me  discretion,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  I  might  order  you  both  to  separate  dungeons,  but  I  am 
an  easy  man  and  delight  In  the  domestic  affections.  I 
would  see  the  parting  of  two  such  faithful  lovers.  I  may 
learn  somewhat  that  will  serve  me  in  the  future.  It  is 
my  ill-fortune  that  till  now  I  have  had  little  experience 
in  the  gentler  emotions." 

He  raised  his  hand. 

"  Let  the  Princess  pass,"  he  cried.  The  guards 
dropped  their  swords  to  their  sides.  They  had  been 
restraining  her  with  as  much  gentleness  as  their  duty 
would  permit. 

290 


Prince  Wasp  Stings 

Instantly  the  Princess  Margaret  ran  forward  with 
eager  appeal  on  her  face.  She  dropped  on  her  knees 
before  the  Prince  of  Muscovy  and  clasped  her  hands  in 
supplication. 

"  Prince  Ivan,"  she  said,  "  I  pray  you  for  the  love  of 
God  to  spare  him,  to  let  him  go.  I  promise  never  to 
see  him  more.  I  will  go  to  a  nunnery.  I  will  look  no 
more  upon  the  face  of  day." 

"That,  above  all  things,  I  cannot  allow,"  said  the 
Prince.  "So  fair  a  face  must  see  many  suns  — soon,  I 
trust,  in  Moscow  and  by  my  side." 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  Sparhawk,  "  it  is  useless  to 
plead.  Do  not  abase  yourself  in  the  presence  of  our 
enemy.  You  cannot  touch  a  man's  heart  when  his 
breast  covers  a  stone.  Bid  me  good-bye  and  be  brave. 
The  time  will   not  be  long." 

From  the  place  where  Margaret  the  loving  woman 
had  kneeled  Margaret  the  princess  rose  to  her  feet  at 
the  word  of  her  husband.  Without  deigning  even  to 
glance  at  Ivan,  who  had  stooped  to  assist  her,  she  passed 
him  by  and  went  to  Von  Lynar.  He  held  out  both 
his  hands  and  took  her  little  trembling  ones  within  them 
in  a  strong,  assured   clasp. 

The  Prince  watched  them  with  a  chill  smile. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Maurice,  "  this  will  not  be  for  long. 
What  matters  the  ford,  so  that  we  pass  over  the  river. 
Be  brave,  little  wife.  The  crossing  will  not  be  long, 
nor  the  water  deep.  They  cannot  take  from  us  that 
which  is  ours.  And  He  who  joined  us,  whose  priest 
blessed  us,  will  unite  us  anew  when  and  where  it 
seemeth  good  to   Him!" 

"  Maurice,  I  cannot  let  you  die  —  and  by  such  a 
terrible   death  !  " 

"  Dearest,  what  does  it  matter  ?     I  am  yours.     Wher- 

291 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

ever  my  spirit  may  wander,  I  am  yours  alone.  I  will 
think  of  you  when  the  Black  Water  shallows  to  the 
brink.  I  will  wait  a  day  and  then  you  will  meet  me 
there.  To  you  it  may  be  years.  It  will  be  but  a  day 
to  m^.  And  I  shall  be  there.  Little  Margaret,  good- 
night. Do  not  forget  that  I  love  you.  I  would  have 
made  you  very  happy,  if  I  had  had  time  —  ah,  if  I  had 
had  time !  " 

Like  a  child  after  its  bedside  prayer  she  lifted  up  her 
face  to  be  kissed. 

"  Good-night,  Maurice,"  she  said  simply.  "  Wait  for 
me ;    I  shall  not  be  long  after  !  " 

She  laid  her  brow  a  moment  on  his  breast.  Then 
she  lifted  her  head  and  walked  slowly  and  proudly  out 
of  the  hall.  The  guard  fell  in  behind  her,  and  Maurice 
von  Lynar  was  left  alone  with  the  Prince  of  Muscovy. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  the  Princess  a  sudden  devilish 
grimace  of  fury  distorted  the  countenance  of  the  Prince 
Ivan.  Hitherto  he  had  been  studiously  and  even  caress- 
ingly courteous.  But  now  he  strode  swiftly  up  to  his 
captive  and  smote  him  across  the  mouth  with  the  back 
of  his  gauntleted   hand. 

"  That ! "  he  said  furiously,  "  that  for  the  lips  which 
have  kissed  hers.  To-morrow  I  will  pay  the  rest  of  my 
debt.      Yes,  I  will  pay  it  with  usury  thereto  !  " 

A  thin  thread  of  scarlet  shoived  upon  the  white  of 
Maurice  von  Lynar's  chin  and  trickled  slowly  down- 
wards. But  he  uttered  no  word.  Only  he  looked  his 
enemy  very  straightly  in  the  eyes,  and  those  of  the 
Muscovite  dropped  before  that  manful  regard. 


292 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    UKRAINE    CROSS 

UPON  the  green  plain  beside  the  Alia  a  great  multi- 
tude was  assembled.  They  had  come  together 
to  witness  a  sight  never  seen  in  Courtland  before,  the 
dread  punishment  of  the  Ukraine  Cross.  It  was  to  be 
done,  they  said,  upon  the  body  of  the  handsome  youth, 
with  whom  the  Princess  Margaret  was  in  love  —  some 
even  whispered  married  to  him. 

The  townsfolk  murmured  among  themselves.  This 
was  certainly  the  beginning  of  the  end.  Who  knew 
what  would  come  next  ?  If  the  barbarous  Muscovite 
punishments  began  in  Courtland,  it  would  end  in  all  of 
them  being  made  slaves,  liable  to  knout  and  plet.  Ivan 
had  bewitched  the  Prince.  That  was  clear,  and  for  a 
certainty  the  Princess  Margaret  wept  night  and  day. 
In  this  fashion  ran  the  bruit  of  that  which  was  to  be. 

"  Torn  to  pieces  by  wild  horses."  It  was  a  thing 
often  heard  about,  but  which  no  one  had  seen  in  a 
civilised  country  for  a  thousand  years.  Where  was  it  to 
be  done?  It  was  shocking,  terrible;  but  it  would  be 
worth  seeing.  So  the  city  went  ouj:,  the  men  with 
weapons  under  their  cloaks  pressing  as  near  as  the 
soldiers  would  allow  them,  while  the  women  stood  afar 
off  and  wept  into  their  aprons,  only  putting  aside  the 
corners  that  they  might  see  clearly  and  miss  nothing. 

At  ten  a  great  green  square  of  riverside  grass  was  held 

293 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

by  the  archers  of  Courtland.  The  people  extended  as 
far  back  as  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  where  at  the  city 
entrance  travellers  were  wont  to  give  thanks  for  a  favour- 
able journey.  At  eleven  the  lances  of  Prince  Ivan's 
Cossacks  were  seen  topping  the  city  wall.  On  the  high 
bank  of  the  Alia  the  people  were  craning  their  necks  and 
looking  over  each  other's  shoulders. 

The  wild  music  of  the  Cossacks  came  nearer,  each 
man  with  the  butt  of  his  lance  set  upon  his  thigh,  and 
the  pennon  of  blue  and  white  waving  above.  Then  a 
long  pitying  "A  —  a  —  h  !  "  went  up  from  the  people, 
for  the  Sparhawk  was  in  sight,  and  they  swayed  from  the 
Riga  gate  to  the  shrine  of  John  Evangelist  like  a  willow 
copse  stricken  by  a  squall  from  off  the  Baltic,  so  that  it 
shows  the  under-o-rev  of  its  leaves. 

"  The  poor  lad  !     So  handsome,  so  young  !  " 

The  first  soft  universal  hush  of  pity  broke  up  into 
myriad  exclamations  of  anger  and  deprecation.  "  How 
high  he  holds  his  head  !  See  !  They  have  opened  his 
shirt  at  the  neck.  Poor  Princess,  how  she  must  love 
him  !  His  hands  are  tied  behind  his  back.  He  rides  in 
that  jolting  cart  as  if  he  were  a  conqueror  in  a  triumphal 
procession,  instead  of  going  to  his  death." 

"  Pity,  pity  that  one  so  young  should  die  such  a  death  ! 
They  say  she  is  to  be  carried  up  to  the  top  of  the  Castle 
wall  that  she  may  see.  Ah,  here  he  comes  !  He  is 
smiling  !  God  forgive  the  butchers  who  by  strength  of 
brute  beasts  would  tear  asunder  those  comely  limbs  that 
were  fitted  to  be  a  woman's  joy.  Down  with  all  false 
and  cruel  Princes,  say  I  !  Nay,  mistress,  I  will  not  be 
silent.  And  there  are  more  here  who  will  back  me,  if 
1  be  called  in  question.  Who  is  the  Muscovite,  that  he 
should  bring  his  abominations  into  Courtland?  If  I  had 
my  way,  Prince  Conrad  —  " 

294 


The  Ukraine  Cross 

"  Hush,  hush  !  Here  they  come  !  Side  by  side,  as 
usual,  the  devil  and  his  dupe.  Aha  !  there  is  no  sound 
of  cheering  !  Let  a  man  shout,  '  Long  live  the  Prince,' 
and  I  will  slit  his  wizzand.  I,  Henry  the  coppersmith, 
will  do  it !  He  shall  sleep  with  pennies  on  his  eyes  this 
night !  " 

So  through  the  lane  by  which_the  gate  communicated 
with  the  tapestried  stand  set  apart  for  the  greater  specta- 
tors, the  Princes  Louis  and  Ivan,  fool  and  knave,  servant 
and  master,  took  their  way.  And  they  had  scarce  passed 
when  the  people,  mutinous  and  silent,  surged  black 
behind  the  archers'  guard. 

"  Back  there  —  stand  back  !  Way  for  their  excel- 
lencies —  way  !  " 

"  Stand  back  yourselves,"  came  the  growling  answer. 
"  We  be  free  men  of  Courtland.  You  will  find  us  no 
Muscovite  serfs,  and  that  or  the  day  be  done.  Karl 
Wendelin,  think  shame  —  thou  that  art  my  sister's  son 
—  to  be  aiding  and  abetting  such  heathen  cruelty  to  a 
Christian  man,  all  that  you  may  eat  a  great  man's  meat 
and  wear  a  jerkin  purfled  with  gold." 

Such  cries  and  others  worse  pursued  the  Princes'  train 
as  it  went. 

"  Cossack  —  Cossack  !  You  are  no  Courtlanders, 
you  archers  !  Not  a  girl  in  the  city  will  look  at  you  after 
this  !  Butcher's  slaughtermen,  every  one  !  Whipped 
hounds  that  are  afraid  of  ten  score  Muscovites  !  Down, 
dogs,  knock  your  foreheads  on  the  ground.  Here  comes 
a  Muscovite  !  " 

•  •••••• 

Thus  angrily  ran  the  taunt  and  jeer,  till  the  Courtland 
guard,  mostly  young  fellows  with  relatives  and  sweet- 
hearts among  the  crowd,  grew  well-nigh  frantic  with 
rage  and  shame.     The  rabble,  which  had  hung  on  the 

295 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Prince  of  Muscovy  so  long  as  he  scattered  his  largesse 
had  now  wheeled  about  with  characteristic  fickleness. 

"  See  yonder  !  What  are  they  doing  ?  Peter  Alt- 
maar,  what  are  they  doing  ?  Tell  us,  long  man  !  Of 
what  use  is  your  great  fathom  of  pump-water  ?  Can 
you  do  nothing  for  your  meat  but  reach  down  black 
puddings  from  the  rafters  ?  " 

At  this  all  eyes  turned  to  Peter,  a  lanky,  overgrown  lad 
with  a  keen  eye,  a  weak  mouth,  and  the  gift  of  words. 

"Speak  up,  Peter!  Ay,  listen  to  Peter  —  a  good 
lad,  Peter,  as  ever  was  !  " 

"Jan  the  smith,  take  him  on  your  back  so  that  he 
may  see  the  better  !  " 

"  Hush,  there  !  Stop  that  woman  weeping.  We 
cannot  hear  for  her  noise.  She  says  he  is  like  her  son, 
does  she  ?  Well,  then,  there  will  be  time  enough  to 
weep  for  him  afterwards." 

"They  are  bringing  up  four  horses  from  the  Musco- 
vite camp.  The  folk  are  getting  as  far  off  as  they  can 
from  their  heels,"  began  Peter  Altmaar,  looking  under 
his  hand  over  the  people's  heads.  "  Half  a  score  of 
men  are  at  each  brute's  head.  How  they  plunge  I  They 
will  never  stand  still  a  moment.  Ah,  they  are  tethering 
them  to  the  four  great  posts  of  stone  in  the  middle  of 
the  green  square.  Between,  there  is  a  table  —  no,  a 
Wooden  square  stand  like  a  priest's  platform  in  Lent, 
ivhen  he  tells  us  our  sins  outside  the  church. 

"  The  Princes  are  sitting  their  horses,  watching. 
Bravo,  that  was  well  done.  We  came  near  to  seeing  the 
colour  of  the  Muscovite  brains  that  time.  One  of  the 
wild  horses  spread  his  hoofs  on  either  side  of  Prince 
Ivan's  head  !  " 

"  God  send  him  a  better  aim  next  time  !  Tell  on, 
Peter  !      Ay,  go  on,  good  Peter  !  " 

296 


The  Ukraine  Cross 

*'  The  Princes  have  gone  up  into  their  balcony.  They 
are  laughing  and  talking  as  if  it  were  a  raree  show !  " 

"  What  of  him,  good  Peter  ?      How  takes  he  all  this  f  " 

"  What  of  whom  ?  "  queried  Peter,  who  like  all  great 
talkers,  was  growing  testy  under  questioning. 

"  There  is  but  one  '  he  '  to-day,  man.  The  young 
man,  the  Princess  Margaret's  sweetheart." 

"  They  have  brought  him  down  from  the  cart.  The 
Cossacks  are  close  about  him.  They  have  put  all  the 
Courtland  men  far  back." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  they  dare  not  trust  them.  Oh,  for  an 
hour  of  Prince  Conrad  !  If  we  of  the  city  trades  had 
but  a  leader,  this  shame  should  not  blot  our  name 
throughout  all  Christendom  !      What  now,  Peter  ?  " 

"  The  Muscovites  are  binding  the  lad  to  a  wooden 
frame  like  the  lintels  of  a  door  as  he  stands  erect,  his 
hands  in  the  corners  above,  and  his  feet  in  the  corners 
below.     They  have  stripped  him  to  the  waist." 

''  Hold  me  up,  Jan  the  smith  !  I  would  see  this  out, 
that  you  may  tell  your  children  and  your  children's 
children.  Ay  —  so  it  is.  It  is  true.  Sainted  Virgin  ! 
I  can  see  his  body  white  in  the  sunshine.  It  shines 
slender  as  a  peeled  willow  wand." 

Then  the  woman  who  had  wept  began  again. 

"  He  is  like  my  son  —  save  him  !  He  is  the  make 
and  image  of  my  Kaspar.  Slender  as  a  young  willow, 
supple  as  an  ash,  eyed  like  the  berries  of  the  sloe-thorn. 
Give  me  a  sword.  Give  an  old  woman  a  sword,  and  I 
will  deliver  him  myself,  for  Kaspar's  sake.  God's  grace ! 
is  there  never  a  man  amongst  you  ? " 

And  as  her  voice  rose  into  a  shriek,  there  ran  through 
all  the  multitude  the  shiver  of  fear  with  which  a  great 
crowd  expects  a  horror.  A  hush  fell  broad  and  equal  as 
dew  out  of  a  clear  sky.      A  mighty  silence  lay  on  all  the 

297 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

folk.  Peter  Altmaar's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came 
from  them.  For  now  Maurice  was  set  on  high,  so  that 
all  could  see.  White  against  the  sky  of  noon,  making 
the  Cross  of  Saint  Andrew  within  the  oblong  framework 
to  which  he  was  lashed,  they  could  discern  the  slim  body 
of  the  young  man  who  u^as  about  to  die.  The  execu- 
tioners held  him  up  thus  a  minute  or  two  for  a  spectacle, 
and  then,  their  arrangements  completed,  they  lowered 
that  living  crucifix  till  it  lay  flat  upon  its  little  platform, 
with  the  limbs  extended  stark  and  tense  towards  the  heels 
of  the  plunging  horses  of  the  Ukraine. 

Then  again  the  voice  of  Peter  Altmaar  was  heard, 
ringing  false  like  an  untuned  fiddle.  "  They  are  welding 
the  manacles  upon  ankles  and  wrists.  Listen  to  the 
strokes  of  the  hammer." 

And  in  the  hush  which  followed,  faintly  and  musically, 
they  could  hear  iron  ring  on  iron  like  anvil  strokes  in  a 
village  smithy  heard  in  the  hush  of  a  summer's  afternoon. 

"  Blessed  Virgin,  they  are  casting  loose  the  horses ! 
A  Cossack  with  a  cruel  whip  stands  by  each  to  lash 
them  to  fury  !  They  are  slipping  the  platform  from 
under  him.      God  in  heaven  !   what  is  that  ?  " 

•  •••••• 

Hitherto  the  eyes  of  the  great  multitude,  which  on 
three  sides  surrounded  the  place  of  execution,  had  been 
turned  inward.  But  now  with  one  accord  they  were 
gazing,  not  on  the  terrible  preparations  which  were  so 
near  a  bloody  consummation,  but  over  the  green  tree- 
Studded  Alia  meads  towards  a  group  of  horsemen  who 
were  approaching  at  a  swift  hand-gallop. 

Peter  the  lank  giant,  was  in  greater  request  than  ever. 

"  What  do  they  look  at,  good  Peter  —  tell  us  quickly  ? 
Will  the  horses  not  pull  ?  Will  the  irons  not  hold  ? 
Have    the    ropes   broken  ?       Is    it   a   miracle  ?      Is   it   a 

20S 


The  Ukraine  Cross 

rescue  ?  Thunder-weather,  man !  do  not  stand  and 
gape.  Speak  — tell  us  what  you  see,  or  we  will  prod  you 
behind  with  our  daggers  !  " 

"  Half  a  dozen  riding  fast  towards  the  Princes' 
stand,  and  holding  up  their  hands  —  nay  there  are  a 
dozen.  The  Princes  are  standing  up  to  look.  The 
men  have  stopped  casting  loose  the  wild  horses.  The 
man  on  the  frame  is  lying  very  still,  but  the  chains  from 
his  ankles  and  arms  are  not  yet  fastened  to  the  traces." 

"Go  on,  Peter!  How  slow  you  are,  Peter!  stupid 
Peter  !  " 

"  There  is  a  woman  among  those  who  ride  —  no, 
two  !  They  are  getting  near  the  skirts  of  the  crowd. 
Men  are  shouting  and  throwing  up  their  hands  in  the 
air.  I  cannot  tell  what  for.  The  soldiers  have  their 
hats  on  the  top  of  their  pikes.      They  are  shouting  !  " 

As  Peter  paused  the  confused  noise  of  a  multitude 
crying  out  —  every  man  for  himself  —  was  borne  across 
the  crowd  on  the  wind.  As  when  a  great  stone  is  cast 
into  a  little  hill-set  tarn,  and  the  wavelet  runs  round, 
swamping  the  margin's  pebbles  and  swaying  the  reeds, 
so  there  ran  a  shiver,  and  then  a  tidal  wave  of  excite- 
ment through  all  that  ring  which  surrounded  the  cruci- 
fied man,  the  deadly  platform,  and  the  tethered  horses. 

Men  shouted  sympathetically  without  knowing  why, 
and  the  noise  they  made  was  half  a  suppressed  groan,  so 
eager  were  they  to  take  part  in  that  which  might  be 
done  next.  They  thrust  their  women-kind  behind  them, 
shouldering  their  way  into  the  thick  of  the  press  that 
they  might  see  the  more  clearly.  Every  weaponed  man 
fingered  that  which  he  chanced  to  carry.  Yet  none  in 
all  that  mighty  assembly  had  the  least  conception  of 
what  was  really  about  to  happen. 

By  this  time  it  needed  no  Peter  Altmaar.     The  ring 

299 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

was  rapidly  closing  now  all  about  save  upon  the  meadow 
side,  where  a  lane  was  kept  open.  Through  this  living  alley 
came  a  knight  and  a  lady  —  the  latter  in  riding  habit  and 
broad  velvet  cap,  the  knight  with  his  vizor  up,  but  armed 
from  head  to  foot,  a  dozen  squires  and  men-at-arms  fol- 
lowing in  a  compact  little  cloud  ;  and  as  they  came  they 
were  greeted  with  the  enthusiastic  acclaim  of  all  that 
mighty  concourse. 

About  them  eddied  the  people,  overflowing  the  Cos- 
sacks, carrying  the  Courtland  archers  with  them  in  a 
mad  frenzy  of  fraternisation.  In  the  stand  above  Prince 
Louis  could  be  seen  shrilling  commands,  yet  dumb  show 
was  all  he  could  achieve,  so  universal  was  the  clamour 
beneath  him.  But  the  Princess  Margaret  heard  the 
shouting  and  her  heart   leaped. 

"Prince  Conrad  —  our  own  Prince  Conrad,  he  has 
come  back,  our  true  Prince  !  We  knew  he  was  no 
priest !  Courtland  for  ever !  Down  with  Louis  the 
craven  !  Down  with  the  Muscovite !  The  young  man 
shall  not  die !  The  Princess  shall  have  her  sweet- 
heart !  " 

And  as  soon  as  the  cavalcade  had  come  within  the 
square  the  living  wave  broke  black  over  all.  The  riders 
could  not  dismount,  so  thick  the  press.  The  halters  of 
the  wild  horses  were  cut,  and  right  speedily  they  made 
a  way  for  themselves,  the  people  falling  back  and  clos- 
ing again  as  soon  as  they  had  passed  out  across  the  plain 
with  neck  arched  to  their  knees  and  a  wild  flourish  of 
unanimous  hoofs. 

Then  the  cries  began  again.  Swords  and  bare  fists 
were  shaken  at  the  grand  stand,  where  white  as  death 
Prince  Louis  still  kept  his  place. 

"  Prince  Conrad  and  the  Lady  Joan  !  " 

"  Kill  the  Muscovite,  the  torturer  !  " 

300 


The  Ukraine  Cross 

"Death  to  Prince  Louis,  the  traitor  and  the  coward  !'* 

"  We  will  save  the  lad  alive  !  " 

About  the  centre  platform  whereon  the  living  cross 
was  extended  the  crush  grew  first  oppressive  and  then 
dangerous. 

"  Back  there —  you  are  killing  him  !      Back,  I  say  !  '*' 

Then  strong  men  took  staves  and  halberts,  and  by 
force  of  brawny  arms  and  sharp  pricking  steel  pressed 
the  people  back  breast  high.  The  smiths  who  had 
riveted  the  wristlets  and  ankle  rings  were  already  busy 
with  their  files.  The  lashings  were  cast  loose  from  the 
frames.  A  hundred  hands  chafed  the  white,  swollen 
limbs.  A  burgher  back  in  the  crowd  slipped  his  cloak. 
It  was  passed  overhead  on  a  thousand  eager  hands  and 
thrown  across  the  young  man's  body. 

At  last  all  was  done,  and  dazed  and  blinded,  but  un- 
shaken in  his  soul,  Maurice  von  Lynar  stood  totteringly 
upon  his  feet. 

"  Lift  him  up  !  Lift  him  up  !  Let  us  see  him  !  If 
he  is  dead,  we  will  slay  Prince  Louis  and  crucify  the 
Muscovite  in   his  place  !  " 

"  Bah  ! "  another  would  cry,  "  Louis  is  no  longer 
ruler  !      Conrad  is  the  true   Prince  ! " 

"  Down  with  the  Russ,  the  Cossack !  Where  are 
they  ?      Pursue  them  !      Kill  them  !  " 

•  »••••• 

So  ran  the  fierce  shouts,  and  as  the  rescuers  raised  the 
Sparhawk  high  on  their  plaited  hands  that  all  men  might 
see,  on  the  far  skirts  of  the  crowd  Ivan  of  Muscovy, 
with  a  bitter  smile  on  his  face,  gathered  together  his 
stray  horsemen.  One  by  one  they  had  struggled  out  of 
the  press  while  all  men's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  vivid 
centre-piece  of  that  great  whirlpool. 

"  Set   Prince  Louis  in  your  midst   and  ridt  for  your 

301 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

lives  !  "  he  cried.  "  To  the  frontier,  where  bides  the 
army  of  the  Czar  !  " 

With  a  flash  of  pennons  and  a  tossing  of  horses'  heads 
they  obeyed,  but  Prince  Ivan  himself  paused  upon  the 
top  of  a  little  swelling  rise  and  looked  back  towards  the 
Alia  bank. 

The  delivered  prisoner  was  being  held  high  upon 
men's  arms.  The  burgher's  cloak  was  wrapped  about 
him  like  a  royal  robe. 

Prince  Ivan  gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  anger. 

"  It  is  your  day.  Make  the  most  of  it,"  he  muttered. 
"  In  three  days  I  will  come  back  !  And  then,  by 
Michael  the  Archangel  !  I  will  crucify  one  of  you  at 
every  street  corner  and  cross-road  through  all  the  land 
of  Courtland !  And  that  which  I  would  have  done 
shall  not  be  named  beside  that  which  I  shall  do  !  " 

And  he  turned  and  rode  after  his  men,  in  the  midst 
of  Whom  was  Prince  Louis,  his  head  twisted  in  fear  and 
apprehension  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  slack  hands 
scarce  able  to  hold  the   reins. 

After  this  manner  was  the  Sparhawk  rescued  f^om 
the  jaws  of  death,  and  thus  came  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand  the  second  time  to  Courtland. 

But  the  end  was  not  yet. 


305 


CHAPTER   XLI 

THE    LOVES    OF    PRIEST    AND    WIFE 

T  remains  to  tell  how  these  great  things  had  come 
to  pass.  We  must  return  to  the  Isle  Rugen  and 
to  the  lonely  grange  on  the  spit  of  sand  which  separates 
the  Baltic  from  the  waters  of  the  Freshwater  Haff. 

Many  things  had  happened  there  since  Conrad  of 
Courtland,  Cardinal  and  Archbishop,  had  awaked  to  find 
by  his  bedside  the  sleeping  girl  who  was  his  brother's 
wife.  Storms  had  overpassed  and  battles  had  been  won 
ere  these  two  came  riding  into  Courtland,  in  time  to 
prevent  the  dread  consummation  of  the  Ukraine  Cross 
and  to  baulk  for  the  time  the  vengeance  of  Prince  Wasp. 

On  Isle  Rugen,  where  the  pines  grew  dense  and 
green,  gripping  and  settling  the  thin,  sandy  soil  with 
their  prehensile  roots,  Joan  and  Conrad  found  themselves 
much  alone.  The  lady  of  the  grange  was  seldom  to  be 
seen,  save  when  all  were  gathered  together  at  meals. 
Werner  von  Orseln  and  the  Plassenburg  captains, 
Jorian  and  Boris,  played  cards  and  flung  harmless  dice 
for  white  stones  of  a  certain  size  picked  from  the  beach. 
Dumb  Max  Ulrich  went  about  his  work  like  a  shadow^ 
The  ten  soldiers  mounted  guard  and  looked  out  to  sea 
with  their  elbows  on  their  knees  in  the  intervals.  Three 
times  a  week  the  solitary  boat,  with  Max  Ulrich  at  the 
oars,  crossed  to  the  landing-place  on  the  mainland  and 
returned   laden   with   provisioiis.     The   sea   was   empty 

2°3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

before  their  eyes,  generally  deep  blue  and  restless  with 
foam  caps.  The  Haft"  lay  vacant  and  still  as  oil  in  a 
kitchen  basin  behind  them. 

Yet  it  was  not  dull  on  Isle  Rugen. 

The  osprey  flashed  and  fell  in  the  clear  waters  of  the 
HafF,  presently  to  re-emerge  with  a  fish  in  his  beak,  the 
drops  running  like  a  broken  string  of  pearls  from  his 
scales.  Rough-legged  buzzards  screamed  their  harsh 
and  melancholy  cry  as  on  slanted  wings  they  glided 
down  inclines  of  sunshine  and  lay  out  on  the  viewless 
glorious  air.  Wild  geese  swept  overhead  out  of  the 
north  in  V-shaped  flocks.  The  sea-gulls  tacked  and 
balanced,  all-graceful  terns  swung  thwartways  the  blue 
sky,  or  plunged  headlong  into  the  long  green  swells  with 
the  curve  of  falling  stars. 

It  was  a  place  of  forgetting,  and  in  the  autumn  time 
it  is  good  to  forget.  For  winter  is  nigh,  when  there 
will  be  time  and  enough  to  think  sad  thoughts. 

So  in  the  September  weather  Joan  and  Conrad  walked 
much  together.  And  as  Joan  forgot  her  Kernsberg  and 
her  revenge,  Rome  and  his  mission  receded  into  the 
background  of  the  young  man's  thoughts.  Soon  they 
met  undisguisedlv  without  fear  or  shame.  This  Isle 
Rugen  was  a  place  apart  —  a  haven  of  refuge  not  of 
their  seeking.  Mars  had  sent  one  there,  Neptune  the 
other. 

Yet  when  Conrad  woke  in  his  little  north-looking 
room  in  the  lucid  pearl-grey  dawn  he  had  some  bad 
moments.  His  vows,  his  priesthood,  his  princedom  of 
Holy  Church  were  written  in  fire  before  his  eyes.  His 
heart  weighed  heavy  as  if  cinctured  with  lead.  And, 
deeper  yet,  a  rat  seemed  to  gnaw  at  the  springs  of 
his  life. 

Also,    when    the    falling    seas,    combing    the    pebbly 

304 


The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife 

beaches  with  foamy  teeth,  rattled  the  wet  shingle,  Joan 
would  wake  from  sleep  and  lie  staring  wide-eyed  at  the 
casement.  Black  reproach  of  self  brooded  upon  her 
spirit,  as  if  a  foul  bird  of  night  had  fluttered  through  the 
open  window  and  settled  upon  her  breast.  The  poor 
folk  of  Kernsberg  —  her  fatherland  invaded  and  desolate, 
the  Sparhawk  who  was  her  brother  —  nay,  the  man  who 
ought  to  have  been  the  ruler  she  was  not  woithy  to  be, 
the  leader  in  war,  the  just  lawgiver  in  peace  —  these 
filled  her  mind  so  that  sleep  fled  and  she  lay  pondering 
plans  of  escape  and  deliverance. 

But  of  one  thing  she  never  thought  —  of  the  cathedral 
of  Courtland  and  the  husband  to  whose  face  she  had  but 
once  lifted  her  eyes. 

The  sun  looked  through  between  the  red  cloud  bars. 
These  he  left  soon  behind,  turning  them  from  fiery 
islands  to  banks  of  fleecy  wool.  The  shadows  shot 
swiftly  westward  and  then  began  slowly  to  shorten. 
Prince  Conrad  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  A  rose- 
coloured  light  lay  along  the  sea  horizon,  darting  between 
the  dark  pine  stems  and  transmuting  the  bare  sand-dunes 
into  dreamy  marvels,  till  they  touched  the  heart  like 
glimpses  of  a  lost  Eden  seen  in  dreams.  The  black 
bird  of  night  flapped  its  way  behind  the  belting  trees. 
There  was  no  such  thing  as  any  ghostly  rat  to  gnaw  unseen 
the  heart  of  man.  The  blue  dome  of  sky  overhead  was 
better  than  the  holy  shrine  of  Peter  across  the  tawny 
flood  of  Tiber.  And  Isle  Rugen  more  to  be  desired 
than  the  seven-hilled  city  itself.  Yea,  Joan's  hand  in 
his  — 

At  her   casement,  which  opened  to   the  east,  stood  at 
the  same   moment  the  young   Duchess  of   Hohenstein. 
Her  lips  were  parted,  and  the  mystery  of  the  new  day 
2°  305 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

dwelt  in  her  eyes  like  the  hallowing  memory  of  a  bene- 
diction. Southward  lay  the  world,  striving,  warring^ 
sinning,  repenting,  elevating  the  Host,  slaying  the  living, 
and  burying  the  dead.  But  between  her  and  that  world 
lay  a  wide  water  not  to  be  crossed,  a  fixed  gulf  not  to  be 
passed  over.  It  was  the  new  day,  and  there  beneath  her 
was  the  strip  of  silver  sand  where  they  had  walked 
yestereven,  when  the  moon  was  full  and  the  wavelets  of 
that  sheltered  sea  crisped  in  silver  at  their  feet. 

An  hour  afterwards  these  two  met  and  gave  each  other 
a  hand  silently.  Then,  facing  the  sunrise,  they  walked 
eastward  along  the  shore,  while  from  the  dusk  of  the 
garden  gate  Theresa  von  Lynar  watched  them  with  a  sad 
smile  upon  her  face. 

"  She  is  learning  the  lesson  even  as  I  learned  it,"  she 
murmured,  unconsciously  thinking  aloud.  "  Well,  that 
which  the  father  taught  it  is  meet  that  the  dauo-hter 
should  learn.  Let  her  eat  the  fruit,  the  bitter  fruit  of 
love,  even  as  I  have  tasted  it  !  " 

She  watched  a  little  longer,  standing  there  with  the 
pruning-knife  in  her  hand.  She  saw  Conrad  turn  a 
little  towards  Joan  as  thcv  descended  a  little  dell  among 
the  eastern  sand-hills.  And  though  she  could  not  see, 
she  knew  that  two  hands  met  for  a  moment,  ere  their 
feet  climbed  the  opposite  slope  of  dew-drenched  sand. 
A  swift  sob  took  her  unexpectedly  by  the  throat.  "  And 
yet,"  she  said,  "  were  all  to  do  over,  would  not  Theresa 
von  Lynar  again  learn  that  lesson  from  Alpha  to  Omega, 
eat  that  fruit  to  its  bitterest  kernel,  in  order  that  once  more 
the  bud  might  open  and  love's  flower  be  hers  ?  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  at  her  garden  door  spoke  truth. 
For  then  among  the  sand-hills  the  bud  was  opening,  even 
though  the  year  was  on  the  wane  and  the  winter  nigh. 

*'  Happy  Isle   Rugen  !  "  said   Joan,  drawing  a  breath 

306 


The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife 

like  a  sigh.     "  Why  were  we  born  to  princedom,  Conrad, 
you  and  I  ?  " 

"  I  at  least  was  not,"  answered  her  companion, 
"  Dumb  Max's  jerkin  of  blue  fits  me  better  than  any  robe 
royal." 

They  stood  on  the  highest  part  of  the  island.  Joan 
was  leaning  on  the  crumbling  wall  of  an  ancient  fort, 
which,  being  set  on  a  promontory  from  which  the  pine 
trees  drew  back  a  little,  formed  at  once  a  place  of  obser- 
vation and  an  objective  point  for  their  frequent  walks. 
She  turned  at  his  words  and  looked  at  him.  Conrad, 
indeed,  never  looked  better  or  more  princely  than  in  that 
rough  jerkin  of  blue,  the  rough  forester's  breeches  and 
knitted  hose  which  he  had  borrowed  from  Theresa's 
dumb  servitor. 

"  Conrad,"  said  Joan,  suddenly  standing  erect  and 
looking  directly  at  the  young  man,  "  if  1  were  to 
tell  you  that  I  have  resolved  never  to  return  to  Kerns- 
berg,  but  to  remain  here  on  Isle  Rugen,  what  would  you 
say  ?  " 

"I  should  ask  to  be  your  companion — or,  if  not,  your 
bailiff!  "  said  the  Prince-Bishop  promptly. 

"  That  would  be  to  forget  your  holy  office  !  " 

A  certain  gentle  sadness  passed  over  the  features  of 
the  young   man. 

"  I  leave  many  things  undone  for  the  sake  of  mine 
office,"  he  said ;  "  but  the  canons  of  the  Church  do  not 
forbid   povertv,  nor  yet  manual  labour." 

"  But  you  have  told  me  a  hundred  times,"  urged  Joan, 
smiling  in  spite  of  herself,  "  that  necessity  and  not 
choice  made  you  a  Churchman.  Does  that  necessity 
no  longer  exist  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Conrad  readily  as  before ;  "  but 
smaller  necessities  yield  to  greater  !  " 

307 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"And  the  greater?  " 

"  Why,"  he  answered,  "what  say  you  to  the  tempest 
that  drove  me  hither  —  the  thews  and  stout  heart  of 
Werner  von  Orseln  and  his  men,  not  to  speak  of  Cap-. 
tains  Boris  and  Jorian  there  ?  Are  they  not  sufficient 
reasons   for  remaining  here  ?  " 

He  paused  as  if  he  had  more  to  say. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Joan  and  waited  for  him  to  continue. 

"There  is  something  else,"  he  said.  "It  is  —  it 
is  —  that  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you  !  God  knows  I 
cannot  leave  you  if  I  would  !  " 

Joan  of  Hohenstein  started.  The  words  had  been 
spoken  in  a  low  tone,  yet  with  suppressed  vehemence, 
as  though  driven  from  the  young  man's  lips  against  his 
will.  But  there  was  no  mistaking  their  purport.  Yet 
they  were  spoken  so  hopelessly,  and  withal  so  gently, 
that  she  could   not  be  angry. 

"  Conrad  —  Conrad,"  she  murmured  reproachfully, 
"■  I  thought  I  could  have  trusted  you.  You  promised 
never  again  to  forget  what  we  must  both  remember !  " 

"In  that  you  did  well,"  he  replied;  "you  may  trust 
me  to  the  end.  But  the  privilege  of  speech  is  not 
denied  even  to  the  criminal  upon  the  scaffold." 

A  wave  of  pity  passed  over  Joan.  A  month  before 
she  would  have  withdrawn  herself  in  hot  anger.  But 
Isle  Rugen  had  gentled  all  her  ways.  The  peace  of 
that  ancient  fortalice,  the  wash  of  the  ambient  waters, 
the  very  lack  of  incident,  the  sense  of  the  mysteries  of 
tragic  life  which  surrounded  her  on  all  sides,  the  deep 
thoughts  she  had  been  thinking  alone  with  herself,  the 
companionship  of  this  man  whom  she  loved — all  these 
had  wrought  a  new  spirit  in  Jo^n  of  the  Sword  Hand. 
Women  who  cannot  be  pitiful  are  but  half  women. 
They  have   entered   upon  their  inheritance.      But  noW 

308 


The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife 

Joan  was  coming  to  her  own  again.  For  to  pity  of 
Theresa  von  Lynar  she  was  adding  pity  for  Conrad  of 
Courtland  and  Joan  of  Hohenstein. 

"  Speak,"  she  said  very  gently.  "  Do  not  be  afraid, 
tell   me  all  that  is  in,  your  heart!" 

Joan  was  not  disinclined  to  hear  any  words  that  the 
young  man  might  speak.  She  believed  that  she  could 
listen  unmoved  even  to  his  most  passionate  declarations 
of  love.  Like  the  wise  physician,  she  would  listen, 
understand,  prescribe,  and  administer  the  remedy. 

But  the  pines  of  Isle  Rugen  stood  between  this 
woman  and  the  girl  who  had  ridden  away  so  proudly 
from  the  doors  of  the  Kernsberg  minster  at  the  head  of 
her  four  hundred  lances.  Besides,  she  had  not  forgotten 
the  tournament  and  the  slim  secretary  who  had  once 
stood  before  this  man  in  the  river  parlour  of  the  summer 
palace. 

Then  Conrad  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  very  distinct  and 
even  in  its   modulation. 

"Joan,"  he  said,  "once  on  a  time  I  dreamed  of  being 
loved  —  dreamed  that  among  all  the  world  there  might 
be  one  woman  for  me.  Such  things  must  come  when 
deep  sleep  falleth  upon  a  young  man.  Waking  I  put 
them  from  me  even  as  I  have  put  arms  and  warfare 
aside.  I  believed  that  I  had  conquered  the  lust  of  the 
eye.  Now  I  know  that  I  can  never  again  be  true  priest 
neither  serve  the  altar  with  a  clean  heart. 

"Listen,  my  lady  Joan!  I  love  you  —  there  is  no 
use  in  hiding  it.  Doubtless  you  have  already  seen  it. 
I  love  you  so  greatly  that  vows,  promises,  priesthoods, 
cardinalates  are  no  more  to  me  than  the  crying  of  the 
seabirds  up  yonder.  Let  a  worthier  than  I  receive  and 
hold  them.  They  are  not  for  a  weak  and  sinful  man. 
My  bishopric  let  another  take.      I  would  rather  be  your 

309 


^Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

groom,  your  servitor,  your  lacquey,  than  reign  on  the 
seven   hills  and  sit   in   Holy   Peter's   chair!" 

Joan  leaned  against  the  crumbling  battlement  and  the 
words  of  Conrad  were  very  sweet  in  her  ear.  They 
filled  her  with  pity,  while  at  the  same  time  her  heart  was 
strong  v/ithin  her.  None  had  dared  to  speak  such  words 
to  her  before  in  all  her  life,  and  she  was  a  woman. 
The  Princess  Margaret,  had  she  loved  a  man  as  Joan 
did  this  man,  would  have  given  vow  for  vow,  renuncia- 
tion for  renunciation,  and  it  might  be,  have  bartered 
kiss  for  kiss. 

But  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  was  never  stronger, 
more  serene,  surer  of  herself  than  when  she  listened  to 
the  words  she  loved  to  hear,  from  the  lips  of  the  man 
who  of  all  others  she  desired  to  speak  them.  At  first 
she  had  been  looking  out  upon  the  sea,  but  now  she 
even  permitted  her  eyes  to  rest  with  d  great  kindliness 
upon  the  young  man.  Even  as  he  spoke  Conrad  knew 
the  thing  that  was  in  her  heart. 

"  Mark  you,"  he  said,  "do  me  the  justice  to  remem- 
ber that  I  ask  for  nothing.  I  expect  nothing.  I  hope 
for  nothino;  in  return.  I  thought  once  that  I  could  love 
divine  things  wholly.  Now  I  know  that  my  heart  is 
too  earthly.  But  instead  I  love  the  noblest  and  most 
gracious  woman  in  the  world.  And  I  love  her,  too,  with 
a  love  not  wholly  unworthy  of  her." 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honour,"  said  Joan  quietly. 
"  I  am  weak  and  sinful.  Or  else  would  I,  your  brother's 
"v/ife,  listen  to  such  words  from  any  man — least  of  all 
from  you  ?  " 

"  Nav,"  said  Conrad  ;  "  you  only  listen  out  of  your 
great  pitifulness.  But  I  am  no  worthy  priest.  I  will 
not  take  upon  me  the  yet  greater  things  for  which  I  am 
unfitted.      I    will  not   sully   the  holy  garments  with  my 

31C 


The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife 

earthliness.      Conrad  of  Courtland,  Bishop  and  Cardinal, 
died  out  there  among  the  breakers. 

"He  will  never  go  to  Rome,  never  kneel  at  the  tombs 
of  the  Apostles.  He  will  from  this  day  forth  be  a  servi- 
tor, a  servant  of  servants  in  the  train  of  the  Duchess 
Joan.  Save  those  with  us  here,  our  hostess  and  the 
three  captains  (who  for  your  sake  will  hold  their  peace), 
none  know  that  Conrad  of  Courtland  escaped  the  waters 
that  swallowed  up  his  companions.  They  and  you  will 
keep  the  secret.  This  shaven  crown  will  speedily  thatch 
itself  again,  a  beard  grow  upon  these  shaveling  cheeks. 
A  dash  of  walnut  juice,  and  who  will  guess  that  under, 
the  tan  of  Conrad  the  serf  there  is  concealed  a  prince  of 
Holy  Church  ?  " 

He  paused,  almost  smiling.  The  picture  of  his 
renunciation  had  grown  real  to  him  even  as  he  spoke. 
But  Joan  did  not  smile.  She  waited  a  space  to  see  if  he 
had  aught  further  to  say.  But  he  was  silent,  waiting  for 
her  answer. 

"  Conrad,"  she  said  very  gently,  "that  I  have  listened 
to  you,  and  that  I  have  not  been  angry  may  be  deadly 
sin  for  us  both.  Yet  I  cannot  be  angry.  God  forgive 
me  !  I  have  tried  and  I  cannot  be  angry.  And  why 
should  I  ?  Even  as  I  lay  a  babe  in  the  cradle  I  was 
wedded.  If  a  woman  must  suffer,  she  ought  at  least  to 
be  permitted  to  choose  the  instrument  of  her  torture." 

"  It  is  true,"  he  replied  j  "  you  are  no  more  truly  wife 
than  I  am  priest." 

"  Yet  because  you  have  dispensed  holy  bread,  and  I 
have  knelt  before  the  altar  as  a  bride,  we  must  keep 
faith,  you  and  I.  We  are  bound  by  our  nobility.  If 
we  sm,  let  it  be  the  greater  and  rarer  sin  —  the  sin  of 
the  spirit  only.  Conrad,  I  love  you.  Nay,  stand  still 
where  you   are   and  listen   to   me,  Joan,  your  brother's 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

wife.  For  I,  too,  will  clear  my  soul.  I  loved  you  long 
ere  your  eyes  fell  on  me.  I  came  as  Dessauer's  secretary 
in  the  city  of  Courtland.  I  determined  to  see  the  man 
I  was  to  wed.  I  saw  the  prince  —  my  prince  as  I 
thought,  storm  through  the  lists  on  his  white  horse.  I 
saw  him  bare  his  head  and  receive  the  crown  of  victory. 
I  stood  before  him,  ashamed  yet  glad,  hosed  and 
doubleted  liice  a  boy  in  the  summer  pavilion.  I  heard 
his  gracious  words.  I  loved  my  prince,  who  so  soon  was 
to  be  wholly  mine.  The  months  slipped  past,  and  I  was 
ever  the  gladder  the  faster  they  went.  The  woman 
stirred  within  the  stripling  girl.  In  half  a  year,  in 
twenty  weeks  —  in  five  —  in  one  —  in  a  day  — an  hour, 
I  would  put  my  hand,  my  life,  myself  into  his  keeping  ! 
Then  came  the  glad  tumult  of  the  rejoicing  folk,  the 
hush  of  the  crowded  cathedral.  1  said,  '  Oh  not  yet  — 
I  will  not  lift  my  eyes  to  my  prince  until  — '  We 
stopped.  I  lifted  my  eyes  —  and  the  prince  was  not  my 
prince  !  " 

There  was  a  long  and  solemn  pause  between  these  two 
on  the  old  watch-tower.  Never  was  declaration  of  love 
returned  so  given  and  so  taken.  Conrad  as  still  as  a 
statue,  only  his  eyes  growing  great  and  full  of  light. 
Joan  stood  looking  at  him,  unshamed  and  fearless.  Yet 
neither  moved  an  inch  toward  either.  A  brave  woman's 
will  to  do  right  greatly  stood  between  them. 

She  went  on. 

"  Now  you  know  all,  Conrad,"  she  said.  "  Isle 
Rugen  can  never  more  be  the  isle  of  peace.  You  and  I 
have  shivered  the  cup  of  our  happiness.  We  must  part. 
We  can  never  be  friends.  I  must  abide  because  I  am  a 
prisoner.  You  will  keep  your  counsel,  promising  me  to 
be  silent,  and  together  we  will  contrive  a  way  of 
escape." 

312 


The  Loves  of  Priest  and  Wife 

When  Conrad  answered  her  his  voice  was  hoarse  ana 
broken,  almost  like  one  rheumed  with  sleeping  out  on  a 
winter's  night.  His  words  whistled  in  his  windpipe, 
flying  from  treble  to  bass  and  back  again. 

"  Joan,  Joan  !  "  he  said,  and  the  third  tiriie  "  Joan  I " 
And  for  the  moment  he  could  say  no  more. 

"  True  love,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  caressing. 
"  you  and  I  are  barriered  from  each  other.  Yet  we 
belong  —  you  to  me  —  I  to  you  !  I  will  not  touch 
your  hand,  nor  you  mine.  Not  even  as  we  have 
hitherto  done.  Let  ours  be  the  higher — perhaps  dead- 
lier sin  — the  sin  of  soul  and  soul.  Do  you  go  back  to 
your  office,  your  electorate,  while  I  stay  here  to  do  my 
duty." 

"And  why  not  you  to  your  duchy?"  said  Conrad, 
who  had  begun  to  recover  himself. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  if  I  refuse  to  abide  by  one 
of  my  father's  bargains,  I  have  no  right  to  hold  by  the 
other.  He  would  have  made  me  your  brother's  wife. 
That  I  have  refused.  He  disinherited  his  lawful  son, 
that  I  might  take  the  dukedom  with  me  as  my  dowry. 
Can  I  keep  that  which  was  only  given  me  in  trust  for 
another  ?  Maurice  von  Lynar  shall  be  Duke  Maurice, 
and  Theresa  von  Lynar  shall  have  her  true  place  as  the 
widow  of  Henry  the  Lion  !  " 

And  she  stood  up  tall  and  straight,  like  a  princess 
indeed. 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  said  very  low.  "  What  will  you 
do,  Joan  ?  " 

"  For  me,  I  will  abide  on  Isle  Rugen.  Nunneries 
are  not  for  me.  There  are  doubtless  one  or  two  who 
will  abide  with  me  for  the  sake  of  old  days  —  Werner 
von  Orseln  for  one,  Alt  Pikker  for  another.  I  shall 
not  be  lonely." 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

She  smiled  upon  him  with  a  peculiar  trustful  sweet- 
ness and  continued  — 

"  And  once  a  year,  in  the  autumn,  you  will  come 
from  your  high  office.  You  will  lay  aside  the  princely 
scarlet,  and  don  the  curt  hose  and  blue  jerkin,  even  as 
now  you  stand.  You  will  gather  blackberries  and  help 
me  to  preserve  them.  You  will  split  wood  and  carry 
water.  Then,  when  the  day  is  well  spent,  you  and  I 
will  walk  hither  in  the  high  afternoon  and  tell  each 
other  v^^here  we  stand  and  all  the  things  that  have  filled 
our  hearts  in  the  interspace.  Thus  will  we  keep  tryst, 
you  and  I  —  not  priest  and  wife,  but  man  and  woman 
speaking  the  truth  eye  to  eye  without  fear  and  without 
stain.      Do  you  promise  ?  " 

For  all  answer  the  Prince-Cardinal  kneeled  down,  and 
taking  the  hem  of  her  dress  he  kissed  it  humbly  and 
reverently. 


3 '4 


CHAPTER   XLII 

THERESA    KEEPS    TROTH 

BUT  they  had  reckoned  without  Theresa  von  Lynar. 
Conrad  and  Joan  came  back  from  the  ruined  forti- 
fication, silent  mostly,  but  thrilled  with  the  thoughts  of 
that  which  their  eyes  had  seen,  their  ears  heard.  Each 
had  listened  to  the  beating  of  the  other's  heart.  Both 
knew  they  were  beloved.  Nothing  could  alter  that  any 
more  for  ever.  As  they  had  gone  out  with  Theresa 
watching  them  from  the  dusk  of  the  garden  arcades,  their 
hands  had  drawn  together.  Eyes  had  sought  answering 
eyes  at  each  dip  of  the  path.  They  had  listened  for  the 
finest  shades  of  meaning  in  one  another's  voices,  and 
taken  courage  or  lost  hope  from  the  droop  of  an  eyelid 
or  the  quiver  of  a  syllable. 

Now  all  was  changed.  They  knew  that  which  they 
knew. 

The  orchard  of  the  lonely  grange  on  Isle  Rugen  v/as 
curiously  out  of  keeping  with  its  barren  surroundings. 
Enclosed  within  the  same  wall  as  the  dwelling-house,  it 
was  the  special  care  of  the  Wordless  Man,  whose  many 
years  of  pruning  and  digging  and  watering,  undertaken 
each  at  its  proper  season,  had  resulted  in  a  golden  har- 
vest of  September  fruit.  When  Joan  and  Conrad  came 
to  the  portal  which  gave  entrance  from  without,  lo  !  it 
stood  open.  The  sun  had  been  shining  in  their  eyes, 
and  the  place  looked  very  slumberous  in  the  white,  hazy 

315 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

glory  of  a  northern  day.  The  path  which  led  out  of  the 
orchard  was  splashed  with  cool  shade.  Green  leaves 
shrined  fair  globes  of  fruitage  fast  ripening  in  the  blow- 
ing air  and  steadfast  sun.  Up  the  path  towards  them  as 
they  stood  together  came  Theresa  von  Lynar.  There 
was  a  smile  on  her  face,  a  large  and  kindly  graciousness 
in  her  splendid  eyes.  Her  hair  was  piled  and  circled 
about  her  head,  and  drawn  back  in  ruddy  golden  masses 
from  the  broad  white  forehead.  Autumn  was  Theresa's 
season,  and  in  such  surroundings  she  might  well  have 
stood  for  Ceres  or  Pomona,  with  apron  full  enough  of 
fruit  for  many  a  horn  of  plenty. 

Such  large-limbed,  simple-natured  women  as  Theresa 
von  Lynar  appear  to  greatest  advantage  in  autumn.  It 
is  their  time  when  the  day  of  apple-blossom  and  spring 
flourish  is  overpast,  and  when  that  which  these  foreshad- 
owed is  at  length  fulfilled.  Then  to  see  such  a  one 
emerge  from  an  orchard  close,  and  approach  softly  smil- 
ing out  of  the  shadow  of  fruit  trees,  is  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  elder  gods.  Spring,  on  the  other  hand,  is  for 
merry  maidens,  slips  of  unripe  grace,  buds  from  the 
schools.  Summer  is  the  season  of  languorous  dryads  at 
rest  in  the  green  gloom  of  forests,  fanning  sunburnt 
cheeks  with  green  leafy  boughs  and  their  dark  eyes  full 
of  the  height  of  living.  Winter  is  the  time  of  swift, 
lithe-limbed  girls  with  heads  proudly  set,  who  through 
the  white  weather  carry  them  like  Dian  the  Huntress, 
their  dainty  chins  dimpling  out  of  softening  furs.  To 
each  is  her  time  and  supremacy,  though  a  certain  fa- 
voured few  are  the  mistresses  of  all.  They  move  like  a 
part  of  the  spring  when  cherry  blossoms  are  set  against 
a  sky  of  changeful  April  blue.  They  rejoice  when 
•dark-eyed  summer  wears  scarlet  flowers  in  her  hair, 
shaded  by  green  leaves  and  fanned  by  soft  airs.      Well- 

316 


Theresa  Keeps  Troth 

bosomed  Ceres  herself,  smiling  luxuriant  with  ripe  lips, 
is  not  fairer  than  they  at  the  time  of  apple-gathering,  nor 
yet  dainty  Winter,  footing  it  as  lightly  over  the  frozen 
snow. 

Joan,  an  it  liked  her,  could  have  triumphed  in  all 
these,  but  her  nature  was  too  simple  to  care  about  the 
impression  she  made,  while  Conrad  was  too  deep  in  love 
to  notice  any  difference  in  her  perfections. 

And  now  Theresa  von  Lynar,  the  woman  who  had 
given  her  beauty  and  her  life  like  a  little  Valentine's 
gift  into  the  hand  of  the  man  she  loved,  content  that  he 
should  take  or  throw  away  as  pleased  him  best  —  The- 
resa von  Lynar  met  these  two,  who  in  their  new  glory 
of  renunciation  thought  that  they  had  plumbed  the  abysses 
of  love,  when  as  yet  they  had  taken  no  more  than  a 
single  soundino;  in  the  narrow  seas.  She  stood  looking 
at  them  as  they  came  towards  her,  with  a  sympathy  that 
was  more  than  mere  tolerance. 

*■'■  Our  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  is  growing  into  a 
woman,"  she  murmured;  and  something  she  had  thought 
buried  deep  heaved  in  her  breast,  shaking  her  as  Ence- 
ladus  the  Giant  shakes  Etna  when  he  turns  in  his  sleep. 
For  she  saw  in  the  girl  her  father's  likeness  more 
strongly   than   she  had  ever  seen  it   in  her  own  son. 

"You  have  faced  the  sunshine  !  "  Thus  she  greeted 
them  as  they  came.  "Sit  awhile  with  me  in  the  shade. 
I  have  here  a  bower  where  Maurice  loved  to  play  —  be- 
fore he  left  me.  None  save  I  hath  entered  it  since  that 
day." 

So  saying,  she  led  the  way  along  an  alley  of  pleached 
green,  at  the  far  end  of  which  they  could  see  the  solitary 
figure  of  Max  Ulrich,  in  the  full  sun,  bending  his  back 
to  his  gardening  tasks,  yet  at  the  same  time,  as  was  his 
custom,  keeping  so  near  his  mistress  that  a  fluttered  ker- 

317 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

chief  or  a  lifted  hand  would  bring  him   instantly  to  her 
side. 

It  was  a  small,  rustic,  eight-sided  lodge,  thatched  with 
heather,  its  latticed  windows  wide  open  and  creeper- 
grown,  to  which  Theresa  led  them.  It  had  been  well 
kept;  and  when  Joan  found  herself  within,  a  sudden 
access  of  tenderness  for  this  lonely  mother,  who  had 
offered  herself  like  a  sacrifice  upon  an  altar,  took  posses- 
sion of  her. 

For  about  the  walls  was  fastened  a  dead  child's  pitiful 
armoury.  Home-made  swords  of  lath,  arrows  winged 
with  the  cast  feathers  of  the  woodland,  crooked  bows, 
the  broken  crockery  of  a  hundred  imagined  banquets  — 
these,  and  many  more,  were  carefully  kept  in  place  with 
immediate  and  loving  care.  Maurice  would  be  back 
again  presently,  thev  seemed  to  say,  and  would  take  up 
his  play  just  where  he  left  it. 

No  cobwebs  hung  from  the  roof;  the  bows  were 
duly  unstrung  ;  and  though  wooden  platters  and  rough 
kitchen  equipage  were  mingled  with  warlike  accoutre- 
ments upon  the  floor,  there  was  not  a  particle  of  dust  to 
be  seen  anywhere.  As  they  sat  down  at  the  mother's 
bidding,  it  was  hard  to  persuade  themselves  that  Maurice 
von  Lynar  was  far  off,  enduring  the  hardships  of  war  or 
in  deadly  peril  for  his  mistress.  He  might  have  been  in 
hiding  in  the  brushwood,  ready  to  cry  bo-peep  at  them 
through  the  open  door. 

There  was  silence  in  the  arbour  for  a  space,  a  silence 
which  no  one  of  the  three  was  anxious  to  break.  For 
Joan  thought  of  her  promise,  Conrad  of  Joan,  and 
Theresa   of  her  son.      It  was  the  last   who  spoke. 

"  Somehow  to-day  it  is  borne  in  upon  me  that  Kerns- 
berg  has  fallen,  and  that  my  son  is  in  his  enemy's 
hands!" 

3t8 


Theresa  Keeps  Troth 

Joan  started  to  her  feet,  and  thrust  her  hands  a  little 
out  in  front  of  her  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Who  — 
No  ;  it  cannot  be.  Kernsberg  was  victualled  for  a  year. 
It  was  filled  with  brave  men.  My  captains  are  staunch. 
The  thing  is  impossible." 

Theresa  von  Lynar,  with  her  eyes  on  the  waving 
foliage  which  alternately  revealed  and  eclipsed  the  ruddy 
globes  of  the  apples  on  the  orchard  trees,  slowly  shook 
her  head. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  know,"  she  said  ;  "  never- 
theless I  know.  Here  is  something  which  tells  me." 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart.  "Those  who  are  long 
alone  beside  the  sea  hear  voices  and  see  visions." 

"  But  it  is  impossible,"  urged  Joan  ;  "  or,  if  it  be  true, 
why  am  I  kept  here  ?  I  will  go  and  die  with  my 
people  !  " 

"It  is  my  son's  will,"  said  Theresa — "the  will  of 
the  son  of  Henry  the  Lion.  He  is  like  his  father  — 
therefore  women  do  his  will !  " 

The  words  were  not  spoken  bitterly,  but  as  a  simple 
statement  of  fact. 

Joan  looked  at  this  woman  and  understood  for  the 
first  time  that  she  was  the  strongest  spirit  of  all  —  greater 
than  her  father,  better  than  herself.  And  perhaps  be- 
cause of  this,  nobility  and  sacrifice  stirred  emulously  in 
her  own  breast. 

"  iVIadam,"  she  said,  looking  directly  at  Theresa  von 
Lynar,  "  it  is  time  that  you  and  I  understood  each  other. 
I  hold  myself  no  true  Duchess  of  Hohenstein  so  long  as 
your  son  lives.  My  father's  compact  and  condition  are 
of  no  effect.  The  Diet  of  the  Empire  would  cancel 
them  in  a  moment.  I  will  therefore  take  no  rest  till  this 
thing  is   made  clear.     I  swear  that  your  son  shall  be 

319 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Duke  Maurice  and  sit  in  his  father's  place,  as  is  right 
and  fitting.  For  me,  I  ask  nothing  but  the  daughter's 
portion  — a  grange  such  as  this,  as  solitary  and  as  peace- 
ful, a  garden  to  delve  and  a  beach  to  wander  upon  at 
eve  !  " 

As  she  spoke,  Theresa's  eyes  suddenly  brightened.  A 
proud  high  look  sat  on  the  fulness  of  her  lips,  vv'hich 
gradually  faded  as  some  other  thought  asserted  its  su- 
premacy. She  rose,  and  going  straight  to  Joan,  for  the 
first  time  she  kissed  her  on  the  brow. 

"  Now  do  I  know,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  Henry 
the  Lion's  daughter.  That  is  spoken  as  he  would  have 
spoken  it.      It  is  greatly  thought.      Yet  it  cannot  be." 

"  It  shall  be  !  "  cried  Joan  imperiously. 

"Nay,"  returned  Theresa  von  Lynar.  "Once  on  a 
time  I  would  have  given  my  right  hand  that  for  half  a 
day,  for  one  hour,  men  might  have  said  of  me  that  I  was 
Henry  the  Lion's  wife,  and  my  son  his,  son  !  It  would 
have  been  right  sweet.  Ah,  God,  how  sweet  it  would 
have  been  !  "  She  paused  a  moment  as  if  consulting 
some  unseen  presence.  "  No,  I  have  vowed  my  vow. 
Here  was  I  bidden  to  stay  and  here  will  I  abide.  For 
me  there  was  no  sorrow  in  any  hard  condition,  so  long 
as  he  laid  it  upon  me.  For  have  I  not  tasted  with  him 
the  glory  of  life,  and  with  him  plucked  out  the  heart  of 
the  mystery  ?  That  for  which  I  paid,  I  got.  My  lips 
have  tasted  both  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  and  of  the 
Tree  of  Life  —  for  these  two  grow  very  close  together, 
the  one  to  the  other,  upon  the  banks  of  the  River  of 
Death.  But  for  my  son,  this  thing  is  harder  to  give  up. 
For  on  him  lies  the  stain,  though  the  joy  and  the  sin 
were  mine  alone." 

"  Maurice  of  Hohenstein  shall  sit  in  his  father's  seat," 
said  Joan  firmly.      "  I   have   sworn   it.      If  I  live  I  will 


Theresa  Keeps  Troth 

see  him  settled  there  with  my  captains  about  him. 
Werner  von  Orsehi  is  an  honest  man.  He  will  do  him 
justice.  Von  Dessauer  shall  get  him  recognised,  and 
Hugo  of  Plassenburg  shall  stand  his  sponsor  before  the 
Diet  of  the  Empire."   . 

"  I  would  it  could  be  so,"  said  Theresa  wistfully.  "  If 
my  death  could  cause  this  thing  righteously  to  come  to 
pass,  how  gladly  would  I  end  life  !  But  I  am  bound  by 
an  oath,  and  my  son  is  bound  because  I  am  bound.  The 
tribunal  is  not  the  Diet  of  Ratisbon,  but  the  faithfulness 
of  a  woman's  heart.  Have  I  been  loyal  to  my  prince 
these  many  years  so  that  now  shame  sits  on  my  brow  as 
gladly  as  a  crown  of  bay,  that  I  should  fail  him  now  ? 
Low  he  lies,  and  I  may  never  stand  beside  his  sepulchre. 
No  son  of  mine  shall  sit  in  his  high  chair.  But  if  in 
any  sphere  of  sinful  or  imperfect  spirits,  be  it  hell  or 
purgatory,  he  and  I  shall  encounter,  think  you  that  for 
an  empire  I  would  meet  him  shamed.  And  when  he 
says,  '  Woman  of  my  love,  hast  thou  kept  thy  troth  ? ' 
shall  I  be  compelled  to  answer  '  No '  ?  " 

"But,"  urged  Joan,  "this  thing  is  your  son's  birth- 
right. My  father,  for  purposes  of  state,  bound  my  hap- 
piness to  a  man  I  loathed.  I  have  cast  that  band  to  the 
winds.  The  fathers  cannot  bind  the  children  ;  no  more 
can  you  disinherit  your  son." 

Theresa  von  Lynar  smiled  a  sad,  wise  smile,  in- 
finitely patient,   infinitely   remote. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  you  think  so  ?  You  are  young. 
You  have  never  loved.  You  are  his  daughter,  not  his 
wife.  One  day  you  shall  know,  if  God  is  good  to 
you  !  " 

At  this  Joan  smiled  in  her  turn.  She  knew  what  she 
knew. 

"  You  may  think  you  know,"  returned  Theresa,  her 
21  321 


J 


oan  of  the  Sword  Hand 


calm  eyes  on  the  girl's  face,  "  but  what  I  mean  by  levy- 
ing is  another  matter.  The  band  you  broke  you  did  not 
make.  I  keep  the  vow  I  made.  With  clear  eye,  un- 
dulled  brain,  willing  hand  I  made  it  —  because  he  willed 
it.  Let  my  son  Maurice  break  it,  if  he  can,  if  he  will  — 
as  you  have  broken  yours.  Only  let  him  never  more 
call  Theresa  von  Lynar  mother  !  " 

Joan  rose  to  depart.  Her  intent  had  not  been  shaken, 
though  she  was  impressed  by  the  noble  heart  of  the 
woman  who  had  been  her  father's  wife.  But  she  also 
had  vowed  a  vow,  and  that  vow  she  would  keep.  The 
Sparhawk  should  yet  be  the  Eagle  of  Kernsberg,  and 
she,  Joan,  a  home-keeping  housewife  nested  in  quietness, 
a  barn-door  fowl  about  the  orchards  of  Isle  Rugen. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  your  word  is  your  word.  But 
so  is  that  of  Joan  of  Kernsberg.  It  may  be  that  out  of 
ihe  unseen  there  may  leap  a  chance  which  shall  bring  all 
to  pass,  the  things  which  we  both  desire  —  without 
breaking  vows  or  loosing  of  the  bands  of  obligation. 
For  me,  being  no  more  than  a  daughter,  I  will  keep 
Duke  Henry's  will  only  in  that  which  is  just  !  " 

"And  I,"  said  Theresa  von  Lynar,  "will  keep  it, just 
or  unjust !  " 

Yet  Joan  smiled  as  she  went  out.  For  she  had  been 
countered  and  checkmated  in  sacrifice.  She  had  met  a 
nature  greater  than  her  own,  and  with  the  truly  noble 
that  is  the  pleasure  of  pleasures.  In  such  things  only 
the  small  are  small,  only  the  worms  of  the  earth  delight 
to  crawl  upon  the  earth.  The  great  and  the  wise  look 
up  and  worship  the  sun  above  them.  And  if  by  chance 
their  special  sun  prove  after  all  to  be  but  a  star,  they 
say,  "  Ah,  if  we  had  only  been  near  enough  it  would 
have  been  a  sim !  " 

All  the  while  Conrad  sat  very  still,  listening  with   full 

322 


Theresa  Keeps  Troth 

heart  to  that  which  it  did  not  concern  him  to  Interrupt. 
But  within  his  heart  he  said, "  Woman,  when  she  is  true 
woman,  is  greater,  worthier,  fuller  than  any  man  —  ay, 
were  it  the  Holy  Father  himself.  Perhaps  because  they 
draw  near  Christ  the  Son  through  Mary  the  Mother !  " 

But  Theresa  von  Lynar  sat  silent,  and  watched  the 
girl  as  she  went  down  the  long  path,  the  leafy  branches 
spattering  alternate  light  and  shadow  upon  her  slender 
figure.     Then  she  turned  sharply  upon  Conrad. 

"  And  now,  my  Lord  Cardinal,"  she  said,  "  what  have 
you  been  saying  to  my  husband's  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  telling  her  that  I  love  her!  "  answered 
Conrad  simply.  He  felt  that  what  he  had  listened  to 
gave  this  woman  a  right  to  be  answered. 

"  And  what,  I  pray  you,  have  princes  of  Holy- 
Church  to  do  with  love  ?  They  seek  after  heavenly 
things,  do  they  not  ?  Like  the  angels,  they  neither 
marry   nor  are  given   in   marriage." 

"  I  know,"  said  Conrad  humbly,  and  without  taking 
the  least  offence.  "  I  know  it  well.  But  I  have  put 
off  the  armour  I  have  not  proven.  The  burden  is  too 
great  for  me.  I  am  a  soldier  —  I  was  trained  a  soldier 
—  yet  because  I  was  born  after  my  brother  Louis,  I 
must  perforce  become  both  priest  and  holy  cardinal. 
Rather  a  thousand  times  would  I  be  a  man-at-arms  and 
carry   a  pike  !  " 

"  Then  am  I  to  understand  that  as  a  soldier  you  told 
the  Duchess  Joan  that  you  loved  her,  or  that  as  a  priest 
vou  forbade  the  banns  ?  Or  did  you  wholly  forget  the 
little  circumstance  that  once  on  a  time  you  yourself 
married   her  to  your  brother  ?  " 

"  I  did  indeed  forget,"  said  Conrad,  with  sincere  peni- 
tence ;  "  yet  must  you  not  blame  me  too  sorely.  I  was 
carried  out  of  myself —  " 

3^3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  The  Duchess,  then,  rejected  your  suit  with  con- 
tumely ?  " 

Conrad  was  silent. 

"  How  should  a  great  lady  listen  to  her  husband's 
brother —  and  a  priest  ?  "  Theresa  went  on  remorseless. 
"  What  said  the  Lady  Joan  when  you  told  her  that  you 
loved  her  ?  " 

*'  The  words  she  spoke  I  cannot  repeat,  but  when  she 
ended  I  set  my  lips  to  her  garment's  hem  as  reverently 
as  ever  to  holy  bread  ?  " 

The  slow  smile  came  again  over  the  face  of  Theresa 
von  Lynar,  the  smile  of  a  war-worn  veteran  who  watches 
the  children  at  their  drill. 

"  You  do  not  need  to  tell  me  what  she  answered,  my 
lord,"  she  said,  for  the  first  time  leaving  out  the  ecclesi- 
astic title.     "  I  know  !  " 

Conrad  stared  at  the  woman. 

*'  She  told  you  that  she  loved  you  from  the  first." 

"  How  know  you  that  ?  "  he  faltered.  "  None  must 
hear  that  secret  —  none  must  guess  it  !  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  laughed  a  little  mellow  laugh,  in 
which  a  keen  ear  might  have  detected  how  richly  and 
pleasantly  her  laugh  must  once  have  sounded  to  her 
lover  when  her  pulses  beat  to  the  tune  of  gladness  and 
the  unbound   heart. 

"  Do  you  think  to  deceive  me,  Theresa,  whom  Henry 
the  Lion  loved  ?  Have  I  been  these  many  weeks  v/ith 
you  two  in  the  house  and  not  seen  this  ?  Prince  Conrad, 
I  knew  it  that  night  of  the  storm  when  she  bent  her 
over  the  couch  on  which  you  lay.  '  I  love,'  you  say 
boldly,  and  you  think  great  things  of  your  love.  But 
she  loved  first  as  she  will  love  most,  and  your  boasted 
love  will  never  overtake  hers  —  no,  not  though  you  love 
her  all  your  life.-  .   .  .  Well,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

324 


Theresa  Keeps  Troth 

Conrad  stood  a  moment  mutely  wrestling  with  himself. 
He  had  never  felt  Joan's  first  instinctive  aversion  to  this 
woman,  a  dislike  even  yet  scarcely  overcome  —  for 
women  distrust  women  till  they  have  vouched  themselves 
innocent,  and  often  even  then. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  the  Duchess  Joan  has  showed 
me  the  better  way.  Like  a  man,  I  knew  not  what  I 
asked,  nor  dared  to  express  all  that  I  desired.  But  I 
have  learned  how  souls  can  be  united,  though  bodies  are 
separated.  I  will  not  touch  her  hand ;  I  will  not  kiss 
her  lips.  Once  a  year  only  will  I  see  her  in  the  flesh. 
I  shall  carry  out  my  duty,  made  at  least  less  unworthy 
by  her  example  —  " 

"  And  think  you,"  said  Theresa,  "  that  in  the  night 
watches  you  will  keep  this  charge  ?  Will  not  her  face 
come  between  you  and  the  altar  ?  Will  not  her  image 
float  before  you  as  you  kneel  before  the  shrine  ?  Will 
it  not  blot  out  the  Hnes  as  you  read  your  daily  office  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  —  I  know  it  too  well  !  "  said  Conrad, 
sinking  his  head  on  his  breast.     "  I  am  not  worthy." 

"  What,  then,  will  you  do  ?  Can  you  serve  two 
masters  ? "  persisted  the  inquisitor.  "  Your  Scripture 
says  not." 

A  larger  self  seemed  to  flame  and  dilate  within  the 
young  man. 

"One  thing  I  can  do,"  he  said — "like  you,  I  can 
obey.  She  bade  me  go  back  and  do  my  duty.  I  cannot 
bind  my  thought ;  I  cannot  change  my  heart ;  I  cannot 
cast  my  love  out.  I  have  heard  that  which  I  have 
heard,  and  I  cannot  forget ;  but  at  least  with  the  body  I 
can  obey.  I  will  perform  mv  vov/ ;  I  will  keep  my 
charge  to  the  letter,  every  jot  and  tittle.  And  if  God 
condemn  me  for  a  hypocrite  —  well,  let  Him  !  He,  and 
not   I,  put   this  love    into   my  heart.     My  body  may  be 

325 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

my  priesthood's  —  I  will  strive  to  keep  it  clean  —  but 
my  soul  is  my  lady's.  For  that  let  Him  cast  both  soul 
and  body  into  hell  fire   if  He   will !  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  did  not  smile  any  more.  She 
held  out  her  hand  to  Conrad  of  Courtland,  priest  and 
prince. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  do  know  what  love  is.  In  so 
far  as  I  can  I  will  help  you  to  your  heart's  desire." 

And  in  her  turn  she  rose  and  passed  down  through 
the  leafy  avenues  of  the  orchard  over  which  the  westering 
sun  was  already  casting  rood-long  shadows. 


326 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE    WORDLESS    MAN    TAKES    A    PRISONER 

IT  was  the  hour  of  the  evening  meal  at  Isle  Rugen. 
The  September  day  piped  on  to  its  melancholy 
close,  and  the  wild  geese  overhead  called  down  unseen 
from  the  upper  air  that  the  storm  followed  hard  upon 
their  backs.  At  the  table-head  sat  Theresa  von  Lynar, 
her  largely  moulded  and  beautiful  face  showing  no  sign 
of  emotion.  Only  great  quiet  dwelt  upon  it,  with 
knowledge  and  the  sympathy  of  the  proven  for  the  un- 
tried. On  either  side  of  her  were  Joan  and  Princfc 
Conrad  —  not  sad,  neither  avoiding  nor  seeking  the  con- 
tingence  of  eye  and  eye,  but  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  so 
strange  a  thing  is  love  once  declared,  happy  within  their 
heart  of  hearts. 

Then,  after  a  space  dutifully  left  unoccupied,  came 
Captains  Boris  and  Jorian ;  while  at  the  table-foot, 
opposite  to  their  hostess,  towered  Werner  von  Orseln, 
whose  grev  beard  had  wagged  at  the  more  riotous  board 
of  Henry  the  Lion  of  Hohenstein. 

Werner  was  telling  an  interminable  storj^-  of  the  old 
wars,  with  many  a  "  Thus  said  I  "  and  "  So  did  he," 
ending  thus  :  —  "  There  lay  I  on  my  back,  with  thirty 
pagan  Wends  readv  to  slit  my  hals  as  soon  as  they  could 
get  their  knives  between  mv  gorget  and  headpiece. 
Gott !  but  I  said  every  prayer  I  knew  —  they  were  not 
many  in  those  days  —  all  in  two  minutes'   space,  as  I 

32" 


/ 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

lay  looking  at  the  sky  through  my  visor  bars  and  wait- 
ing for  the  prick  of  the  Wendish  knife-points. 

"  But  even  as  I  looked  up,  lo  !  someone  bestrode  me, 
and  the  voice  I  loved  best  in  all  the  vi^orld  —  no,  not  a 
woman's,  God  send  him  rest "  ("  Amen  !  "  interjected 
the  Lady  Joan)  —  "  cried,  '  To  me  Hohenstein  !  To 
me,  Kernsberg !  '  And  though  my  head  was  ringing 
with  the  shock  of  falling,  and  my  body  weak  from  many 
wounds,  I  strove  to  answer  that  call,  as  I  saw  my  mas- 
ter's sword  flicker  this  way  and  that  over  my  head.  I 
half  rose  from  the  ground,  my  hilt  still  in  my  hand  —  I 
had  no  more  left  after  the  fight  I  had  fought.  But 
Henry  the  Lion  gave  me  a  stamp  down  with  his  foot. 
'  Lie  still,  man,'  he  said ;  '  do  not  interfere  in  a  little 
business  of  this  kind ! '  And  with  his  one  point  he 
kept  a  score  at  bay,  cr^ang  all  the  time,  '  To  me, 
Hohenstein  !     To  me,  Kernsbergers  all ! ' 

"  And  when  the  enemy  fled,  did  he  wait  till  the 
bearers  came  ?  Well  I  wot,  hardly !  Instead,  he 
caught  me  over  his  shoulder  like  an  empty  sack  when 
one  goes  a-foraging  —  me,  Werner  von  Orseln,  that  am 
built  like  a  donjon  tower.  And  with  his  sword  still  red 
in  his  right  hand,  he  bore  me  in,  only  turning  aside  a 
little  to  threaten  a  Wendish  archer  who  would  have  sent 
an  arrow  into  me  on  the  way.  By  the  knights  who  sit 
round  Karl's  table,  he  was  a  man  !  " 

And  then  to  their  feet  sprang  Boris  and  Jorian,  who 
were  judges  of  men. 

"  To  Prince  Henry  the  Lion,  hoch  ! "  they  cried. 
"  Drink  it  deep  to  his  memory  !  " 

And  with  tankard  and  wreathed  v/ine-cup  they  quaifFed 
to  the  great  dead.  Standing  up,  they  drank  —  his 
daughter  also  —  all  save  Theresa  von  Lynar.  Slie  sat 
unmoved,  as  if  the   toast  had   been  her  own  and  in  a 

328 


Wordless  Man  Takes  a  Prisoner 

moment  more  she  must  rise  to  give  them  thanks.  For  the 
look  on  her  face  said,  "  After  all,  what  is  there  so  strange 
in  that  ?      Was  he  not  Henry  the  Lion  —  and  mine  ?  " 

For  there  is  no  joy  like  that  which  you  may  see  on  a 
woman's  face  when  a  great  deed  is  told  of  the  man  she 
loves. 

The  Kernsberg  soldiers  who  had  been  trained  to  serve 
at  table  had  stopped  and  stood  fixed,  their  duties  in  com- 
plete oblivion  during  the  tale,  but  now  they  resumed 
them  and  the  simple  feast  continued.  Meanwhile  it 
had  been  growing  wilder  and  wilder  without,  and  the 
shrill  lament  of  the  wind  was  distinctly  heard  in  the 
wide  chimney  top.  Now  and  then  in  a  lull,  broad 
splashes  of  rain  fell  soHdly  into  the  red  embers  with  a 
sound  like  musket  balls  "  spatting  "  on  a  wall. 

Then  Theresa  von  Lynar  looked  up. 

"Where  is  Max  Ulrich?"  she  said  ;  "why  does  he 
delay  ? " 

"  My  lady,"  one  of  the  men  of  Kernsberg  answered, 
saluting,  "  he  is  gone  across  the  Haff  in  the  boat,  and 
has  not  yet  returned." 

"  I  will  go  and  look  for  him  —  nay,  do  not  rise,  my 
lord.     I  would  go  forth  alone  !  " 

So,  snatching  a  cloak  from  the  prong  of  an  antler  in 
the  hall,  Theresa  went  out  into  the  irregular  hooting  of 
the  storm.  It  was  not  yet  the  deepest  gloaming,  but 
dull  grey  clouds  like  hunted  cattle  scoured  across  the 
sky,  and  the  rising  thunder  of  the  waves  on  the  shingle 
prophesied  of  a  night  of  storm.  Theresa  stood  a  long 
time  bareheaded,  enjoying  the  thresh  of  the  broad  drops 
as  they  struck  against  her  face  and  cooled  her  throbbing 
eyes.  Then  she  pulled  the  hood  of  the  cloak  over  her 
head. 

The  dead  was  conquering  the  quick  within  her. 

329 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  I  have  known  a  man !  "  she  said ;  ''  what  need  I 
more  with  life  now  ?  The  man  I  loved  is  dead.  I 
thank  God  that  I  served  him  —  ay,  as  his  dog  served 
him.  And  shall  I  grow  disobedient  now  ?  No,  not 
that  my  son  might  sit  on  the  throne  of  the  Kaiser !  " 

Theresa  stood  upon  the  inner  curve  of  the  HafF  at  the 
place  where  Max  Ulrich  was  wont  to  pull  his  boat 
ashore.  The  wind  was  behind  her,  and  though  the 
waves  increased  as  the  distance  widened  from  the  pebbly 
bank  on  which  she  stood,  the  water  at  her  feet  was  only 
ruffled  and  pitted  with  little  dimples  under  the  shocks  of 
the  wind.-  Theresa  looked  long  southward  under  her 
hand,  but  for  the  moment  could  see  nothing. 

Then  she  settled  herself  to  keep  watch,  with  the  storm 
riding  slack-rein  overhead.  Towards  the  mainland  the 
whoop  and  roar  with  which  it  assaulted  the  pine  forests 
deafened  her  ears.  But  her  face  was  younger  than  we 
have  ever  seen  it,  for  Werner's  story  had  moved  her 
strongly.  Once  more  she  was  by  a  great  man's  side. 
She  moved  her  hand  swiftly,  first  out  of  the  shelter  of 
the  cloak  as  if  seeking  furtively  to  nestle  it  in  another's, 
and  then,  as  the  raindrops  plashed  cold  upon  it,  she 
slowly  drew  it  back  to  her  again. 

And  though  Theresa  von  Lynar  was  yet  in  the  prime 
of  her  glorious  beauty,  one  could  see  what  she  must 
have  been  in  the  days  of  her  girlhood.  And  as  memory 
caused  her  eyes  to  grow  misty,  and  the  smile  of  love  and 
trust  eternal  came  upon  her  lips,  twenty  years  were 
shorn  away ;  and  the  woman's  face  which  had  looked 
anxiously  across  the  darkening  Haff  changed  to  that  of 
the  girl  who  from  the  gate  of  Castle  von  Lynar  had 
watched  for  the  coming  of  Duke  Henry. 

She  was  gazing  steadfastly  southward,  but  it  was  not 
^r    Max    the    Wordless    that    she    waited.       Towards 

Z3^ 


Wordless  Man  Takes  a  Prisoner 

Kernsberg,  where  he  whose  sleep  she  had  so  often 
watched,  rested  all  alone,  she  looked  and  kissed  a  hand. 

"Dear,"  she  murmured,  "you  have  not  forgotten 
Theresa!  You  know  she  keeps  troth  I  Ay,  and  will 
keep  it  till  God  grows  kind,  and  your  Theresa  can  follow 
—  to  tell  you  how  well  she  hath  kept  her  charge !  " 

Awhile  she  was  silent,  and  then  she  went  on  in  the 
low,  even  voice  of  self-communing. 

"  What  to  me  is  it  to  become  a  princess  ?  Did  he, 
for  whose  words  alone  I  cared,  not  call  me  his  queen  ? 
And  I  was  his  queen.  In  the  black,  blank  day  of  my 
uttermost  need  he  made  me  his  wife.  And  I  am  his 
wife.      What  want  I  more  with  dignities  ?  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  was  silent  awhile  and  then  she 
added  — 

"  Yet  the  young  Duchess,  his  daughter,  means  well. 
She  has  her  father's  spirit.  And  my  son  —  why  should 
my  vow  bind  him  ?  Let  him  be  Duke,  if  so  the  Fates 
direct  and  Providence  allow.  But  for  me,  I  will  not  sti' 
linger  or  utter  word  to  help  him.  There  shall  be 
neither  anger  nor  sadness  in  my  husband's  eyes  when  I 
tell  him  how  I  have  observed  the  bond  !  " 

Again  she  kissed  a  hand  towards  the  dead  man  who 
lay  so  deep  under  the  ponderous  marble  at  Kernsberg. 
Then  with  a  gracious  gesture,  lingeringly  and  with  the 
misty  eyes  of  loving  womanhood,  she  said  her  lonely 
farewells. 

"  To  you,  beloved,"  she  murmured,  and  her  voice 
was  low  and  very  rich,  "  to  you,  beloved,  where  far  off 
you  lie !  Sleep  sound,  nor  think  the  time  long  till 
Theresa  comes  to  you  !  " 

She  turned  and  walked  back  facing  the  storm.  Her 
hood  had  been  blown  from  her  head  by  the  furious  gusts 
of  wind.      But  she  heeded  not.     She  had   forgotten  poor 

331 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Max  Ulrich  and  Joan,  and  even  herself.  She  had  for- 
gotten her  son.  Her  hand  was  out  in  the  storm  now. 
She  did  not  draw  it  back,  though  the  water  ran  from  her 
finger-tips.  For  it  was  clasped  in  an  unseen  grasp  and 
in  an  ear  that  surely  heard  she  was  whispering  her  heart's 
troth.  *'  God  give  it  to  me  to  do  one  deed  —  one  only 
before  I  die  —  that,  worthy  and  unashamed,  I  may  meet 
my  King." 

When  Theresa  re-entered  the  hall  of  the  grange  the 
company  still  sat  as  she  had  left  them.  Only  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  board  the  three  captains  conferred 
together  in  low  voices,  while  at  the  upper  Joan  and 
Prince  Conrad  sat  gazing  full  at  each  other  as  if  souls 
could  be  drunk  in  through  the  eyes. 

With  a  certain  reluctance  which  yet  had  no  shame  in 
it,  they  plucked  glance  from  glance  as  she  entered,  as  if 
with  difficulty  detaching  spirits  which  had  been  joined. 
At  which  Theresa,  recalled  to  herself,  smiled. 

"  In  all  that  touches  not  my  vow  I  will  help  you 
two  !  "  she  thought,  as  she  looked  at  them.  For  true 
love  came  closer  to  her  than  anything  else   in  the  world. 

"  There   is  no  sign  of  Max,"  she  said  aloud,  to  break 
the  silence  of  constraint  ;  "  perhaps  he  has  waited  at  the 
landing-place  on  the  mainland  till  the  storm  should  abate 
\ — though  that  were  scarce  like  him,  either." 

She  sat  down,  with  one  movement  of  her  arm  casting 
her  wet  cloak  over  the  back  of  a  wooden  settle  which 
fronted  a  fireplace  where  green  pine  knots  crackled  and 
explosive  jets  of  steam  rushed  spitefully  outwards  into 
the  hall  with  a  hissing  sound. 

"  You  have  been  down  at  the  landing-place  —  on 
such  a  night  ?  "  said  Joan,  with  some  remains  of  that 
slight  awkwardness  which  marks  the  interruption  of  a 
more  interesting  conversation. 

332 


Wordless  Man  Takes  a  Prisoner 

"  Yes,"  said  Theresa,  smiling  Indulgently  (for  she  had 
been  in  like  case  —  such  a  great  while  ago,  when  her 
brothers  used  to  Intrude).  "Yes,  I  have  been  at  the 
landing-place.  But  as  yet  the  storm  is  nothing,  though 
the  waves  will  be  fierce  enough  if  Max  Ulrich  is 
coming  home  with  a  laden  boat  to  pull  in  the  wind's 
eye." 

It  mattered  little  what  she  said.  She  had  helped  them 
to  pass  the  bar,  and  the  converse  could  now  proceed 
over  smooth  waters. 

Yet  there  Is  no  need  to  report  It.  Joan  and  Conrad 
remained  and  spoke  they  scarce  knew  what,  all  for  the 
pleasure  of  eye  answering  eye,  and  the  subtle  flattery  ot 
voices  that  altered  by  the  millionth  of  a  tone  each  time 
they  addressed  one  another.  Theresa  answered  vaguely 
but  sufficiently,  and  allowed  herself  to  dream,  till  to  het 
yearning  gaze  honest  sturdy  Werner  grew  misty  and 
his  blulF  figure  resolved  Itself  into  that  nobler  and  more 
kingly  which  for  years  had  fronted  her  at  the  table's  end 
where  now  the  chief  captain  sat. 

Meanwhile  Jorian  and  Boris  exchanged  meaning  and 
covert  glances,  asking  each  other  when  this  dull  dinner 
parade  would  be  over,  so  that  they  might  loosen  leathern 
points,  undo  buttons,  and  stretch  legs  on  benches  with  a 
tankard  of  ale  at  each  right  elbow,  according  to  the  wont 
of  stout  war-captains  not  quite  so  young  as  they  once 
were. 

Thus  they  were  sitting  when  there  came  a  clamour 
at  the  outer  door,  the  noise  of  voices,  then  a  soldier's 
challenge,  and  Max  Ulrich's  weird  answer  —  a  sound 
almost  like  the  howl  of  a  wolf  cut  off  short  In  his  throat 
by  the  hand  that  strangles  him. 

"  There  he  is  at  last !  "  cried  all  In  the  dining-hall  or 
the  Grange. 

333 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Thank  God  !  "  murmured  Theresa.  For  the  man 
wanting  words  had  known  Henry  the  Lion. 

They  waited  the  long  moment  of  suspense  till  the 
door  behind  Werner  was  thrust  open  and  the  dumb  man 
came  in,  drenched  and  dripping.  He  was  holding  one 
by  the  arm,  a  man  as  tall  as  himself,  grey  and  gaunt, 
who  fronted  the  company  with  eyes  bandaged  and  hands 
tied  behind  his  back.  Max  Ulrich  had  a  sharp  knife  in 
his  hand  with  a  thin  and  slightly  curved  blade,  and  as  he 
thrust  the  pinioned  man  before  him  into  the  full  light  of 
the  candles,  he  made  signs  that,  if  his  lady  wished  it,  he 
was  prepared  to  despatch  his  prisoner  on  the  spot.  His 
lips  moved  rapidly  and  he  seemed  to  be  forming  words 
and  sentences.  His  mistress  followed  these  movements 
with  the  closest  attention. 

"  He  says,"  she  began  to  translate,  "  that  he  met  this 
man  on  the  further  side.  He  said  that  he  had  a  message 
for  Isle  Rugen,  and  refused  to  turn  back  on  any  condi- 
tion. So  Max  blindfolded,  bound,  and  gagged  him,  he 
being  willing  to  be  bound.  And  now  he  waits  our 
pleasure." 

"  Let  him  be  unloosed,"  said  Joan,  gazing  eagerly  at 
the  prisoner,  and  Theresa  made  the  sign. 

Stolidly  Ulrich  unbound  the  broad  bandage  from  the 
man's  eyes,  and  a  grey  badger's  brush  of  upright  stubble 
rose  slowly  above  a  high  narrow  brow,  like  laid  corn 
that  dries  in  the  sun. 

"  Alt  Pikker  !  "  said  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  starting 
to  her  feet. 

"  Alt  Pikker  !  "  cried  in  varied  tones  of  wonderment 
Werner  von  Orseln  and  the  two  captains  of  Plassenburg, 
Jorian  and  Boris. 

And  Alt  Pikker  it  surelv  was. 


334 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

TO    THE    RESCUE 

BUT  the  late  prisoner  did  not  speak  at  once,  though 
his  captors  stood  back  as  though  to  permit  him  to 
explain  himself.  He  was  still  bound  and  gagged.  Dis- 
covering which,  Max  in  a  very  philosophical  and  leisurely 
manner  assisted,  him  to  relieve  himself  of  a  rolled  ker- 
chief which  had  been  placed  in  his  mouth. 

Even  then  his  throat  refused  its  office  till  Werner  von 
Orseln  handed  him  a  great  cup  of  wine  from  which  he 
drank  deeply. 

"  Speak  !  "  said  Joan.  "  What  disaster  has  brought 
you  here  ?     Is  Kernsberg  taken  ?  " 

"  The  Eagles'  Nest  is  harried,  my  lady,  but  that  is 
not  what  hath  brought  me  hither !  " 

"  Have  they  found  out  this  my  —  prison  ?  Are  they 
coming  to  capture  me  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  returned  Alt  Pikker.  "  Maurice  von 
Lynar  is  in  the  hands  of  his  cruel  enemies,  and  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  he  is  to  be  torn  to 
pieces  by  wild  horses." 

"  Why  ?  Wherefore  ?  In  what  place  ?  Who 
would  dare  ?  "  came  from  all  about  the  table  ;  but  the 
mother  of  the  young  man  sat  silent  as  if  she  had  not 
heard. 

"To  save  Kernsberg  from  sack  by  the  Muscovites, 
Maurice  von  Lynar  went  to  Courtland  in  the  guise  of 

335 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

the  Lady  Joan.  At  the  fords  of  the  Alia  we  delivered 
him  up !  " 

^'  You  delivered  him  up  ? "  cried  Theresa  suddenly. 
"Then  you  shall  die!      Max  Ulrich,  your  knife !  " 

The  dumb  man  gave  the  knife  in  a  moment,  but 
Theresa  had  not  time  to  approach. 

"  I  went  with  him,"  said  Alt  Pikker  calmly. 

"  You  went  with  him,"  repeated  his  mother  after  a 
moment,  not  understanding. 

"  Could  I  let  the  young  man  go  alone  into  the  midst 
of  his  enemies  ?  " 

"  He  went  for  my  sake  !  "  moaned  Joan.  "  He  is  to 
die  for  me  !  " 

"  Nay,"  corrected  Alt  Pikker,  "he  is  to  die  for  wed- 
ding  the  Princess  Margaret  of  Courtland  !  " 

Again  they  cried  out  upon  him  in  utmost  astonish- 
ment —  that  is,  all  the  men. 

"  Maurice  von  Lynar  has  married  the  Princess  Mar- 
garet of  Courtland  ?      Impossible  !  " 

"  And  why  should  he  not  ?  "  his  mother  cried  out. 

"I  expected  it  from  the  first!"  quoth  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand,  disdainful  of  their  masculine  ignorance. 

"  Well,"  pur  in  Alt  Pikker,  "  at  all  events,  he  hath 
married  the  Princess.  Or  she  has  married  him,  which 
is  the  same  thing  !  " 

"  But  why  ?  We  knew  nothing  of  this  !  He  told 
us  nothing.  We  thought  he  went  for  our  lady's  sake  to 
Courtland  !  Why  did  he  marry  her  ?  "  cried  severally 
von   Orseln  and  the  Plassenburg  captains. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Theresa,  the  mother,  with  assurance. 
"Because  he  loved  her  doubtless.  How  ?  Because  he 
was  his  father's  son  !  " 

And  Theresa  being  calm  and  stilling  the  others,  Alt 
Pikker  got  time  to  tell  his  tale.     There  was  silence  in 

33^ 


To  the  Rescue 

the  grange  of  Isle  Rugen  while  it  was  being  told,  and 
even  when  it  was  ended  for  a  space  none  spoke.  But 
Theresa  smiled  well  pleased  and  said  in  her  heart,  "  I 
thank  God  !  My  son  also  shall  meet  Henry  the  Lion 
face  to  face  and  not  be  ashamed." 
After  that  they  made  their  plans. 

"I  will  go,"  said  Conrad,  "  for  I  have  influence  with 
my  brother  —  or,  if  not  with  him,  at  least  with  the 
folk  of  Courtland.  We  will  stop  this  heathenish 
abomination," 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Theresa,  "  because  he  is  my  son. 
God  will  show  me  a  way  to  help  him." 

"We   will    all   go,"    chorussed    the   captains;    "that 
is  —  all  save  Werner  —  " 
"All  except  Boris  —  !" 
"  All  except  Jorian  —  !  " 

"  Who  will  remain  here  on  Isle  Rugen  with  the 
Duchess  Joan  ?  "  They  looked  at  each  other  as  they 
spoke. 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourselves !  I  will  not 
remain  on  Isle  Rugen  —  not  an  hour,"  said  Joan. 
"  Whoever  stays,  I  go.  Think  you  that  I  will  permit 
this  man  to  die  in  my  stead  ?  We  will  go  to  Courtland. 
We  will  tell  Prince  Louis  that  I  am  no  duchess,  but 
only  the  sister  of  a  duke.  We  will  prove  to  him  that 
my  father's  bond  of  heritage-brotherhood  is  null  and 
void.  And  then  we  will  see  whether  he  is  willing  to 
turn  the  princedom  upside  down  for  such  a  dowerless 
wife  as  I  !  " 

"  For  such  a  wife,"  thought  Conrad,  "  I  would  turn 
the  universe  upside  down,  though  she  stood  in  a  beggar's 
kirtle !  " 

But  being  loyally  bound  by  his  promise  he  said 
nothing. 

"  337 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

It  was  Theresa  von  Lynar  who  put  the  mattef 
practically. 

"  At  a  farm  on  the  mainland,  hidden  among  the  salt 
marshes,  there  are  horses  —  those  you  brought  with  you 
and  others.  They  are  in  waiting  for  such  an  emer- 
gency. Max  will  bring  them  to  the  landing-place. 
Three  or  four  of  your  guard  must  accompany  him. 
The  rest  will  make  ready,  and  at  the  first  dawn  we  will 
set  out.     There  is  yet  time  to  save  my  son  !  " 

She  added  in  her  heart,  "  Or  if  not,  then  to  avenge 
him." 

Strangely  enough,  Theresa  was  the  least  downcast  of 
the  party.  Death  seemed  a  thing  so  little  to  her,  even 
so  desirable,  that  though  the  matter  concerned  her  son's 
life,  she  commanded  herself  and  laid  her  plans  as  coolly 
as  if  she  had  been  preparing  a  dinner  in  the  grange  of 
isle  Rugen. 

But  her  heart  was  proud  within  her  with  a  great  pride. 

"  He  is  Henry  the  Lion's  son.  He  was  born  a  duke. 
He  has  married  a  princess.  He  has  tasted  love  and 
known  sacrifice.  If  he  dies  it  will  be  for  the  sake  of  his 
sister's  honour.  'T  is  no  bad  record  for  twenty  years. 
These  things  he  will  count  high  above  fame  and  length 
of  days !  " 

•  •••••• 

The  little  company  which  set  out  from  Isle  Rugen 
to  ride  to  Courtland  had  no  thought  or  intention  of 
rescuing  Maurice  von  Lynar  by  force  of  arms.  They 
knew  their  own  impotence  far  too  exactly.  Yet  each  of 
the  leaders  had  a  plan  of  action  thought  out,  to  be 
pursued  when  the  city  was  reached. 

If  her  renunciation  of  her  dignities  were  laughed  at, 
as  she  feared,  there  was  nothing  for  Joan  but  to  deliver 
herself  to  Prince  Louis.     She  had  resolved  to  promise  to 

338 


To  the  Rescue 

be  his  wife  and  princess  in  all  that  it  concerned  the 
outer  world  to  see.  Their  provinces  would  be  united, 
Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein  delivered  into  his  hand. 

On  his  part,  Werner  von  Orseln  was  prepared  to 
point  out  to  the  Prince  of  Courtland  that  with  Joan  as 
his  wife,  and  the  armies  and  levies  of  Hohenstein  added 
to  his  own  under  the  Sparhawk's  leadership,  he  would 
be  in  a  position  to  do  without  the  aid  of  the  Prince  of 
Muscovy  altogether.  Further,  that  in  case  of  attack 
from  the  north,  not  only  Plassenburg  and  the  Mark,  but 
all  the  Teutonic  Bond  must  rally  to  his  side. 

Boris  and  Jorian,  being  stout-hearted  captains  of 
men-at-arms,  were  ready  for  anything.  But  though  their 
swords  were  loosened  in  their  sheaths  to  be  prepared  for 
any  assault,  they  were  resolved  also  to  give  what  official 
dignity  they  could  to  their  mission  by  a  free  use  of  the 
lames  of  their  master  and  mistress,  the  Prince  Hugo 
and  Princess  Helene  of  Plassenburg.  They  were  sorry 
now  that  they  had  left  their  credentials  behind  them,  at 
Kernsberg,  but  they  meant  to  make  confidence  and 
assured  countenances  go  as  far  as  they  would. 

Conrad,  who  was  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
character  of  his  brother,  and  who  knew  how  entirely  he 
was  under  the  dominion  of  Prince  Ivan,  had  resolved  to 
use  all  powers,  ecclesiastical  and  secular,  which  his  posi- 
tion as  titular  Prince  of  the  Church  put  within  his  reach. 
To  save  the  Sparhawk  from  a  bloody  and  disgraceful 
death  he  would  invoke  upon  Courtland  even  the  dread 
curse  of  the  Greater  Excommunication.  With  his  faith- 
ful priests  around  him  he  would  seek  his  brother,  and,  if 
necessary,  on  the  very  execution  place  itself,  or  from  the 
high  altar  of  the  cathedral,  pronounce  the  dread  "Anath- 
ema sit."  He  knew  his  brother  well  enough  to  be  sure 
that   this   threat  would    shake   his   soul  with  terror,  and 

339 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

that  such  a  curse  laid  on  a  city  like  Courtland,  not  too 
subservient  at  any  time,  would  provoke  a  rebellion  which 
would  shake  the  power  of  princes  far  more  securely 
seated   than  Prince  Louis. 

The  only  one  of  the  party  wholly  without  a  settled 
plan  was  the  woman  most  deeply  interested.  Theresa 
von  Lynar  simply  rode  to  Courtland  to  save  her  son  or 
to  die  with  him.  She  alone  had  no  influence  with 
Prince  Louis,  no  weapon  to  use  against  him  except 
her  woman's  wit. 

As  the  cavalcade  rode  on,  though  few,  they  made  a 
not  ungallant  show.  For  Theresa  had  clad  Prince 
Conrad  in  a  coat  of  mail  which  had  once  belonged  to 
Henry  the  Lion.  Joan  glittered  by  his  side  in  a  corselet 
of  steel  rings,  while  Werner  von  Orseln  and  the  two 
captains  of  Plassenburg  followed  fully  armed,  their  ac- 
coutrements shining  with  the  burnishing  of  many  idle 
weeks.  These,  with  the  men-at-arms  behind  them, 
made  up  such  an  equipage  as  few  princes  could  ride 
abroad  with.  But  to  all  of  them  the  journey  was 
naught,  a  mere  race  against  time  —  so  neither  horse  nor 
man  was  spared.  And  the  two  women  held  out  best 
of  all. 

But  when  in  the  morning  light  of  the  second  day  they 
came  in  sight  of  Courtland,  and  saw  on  the  green  plain 
of  the  Alia  a  great  concourse,  it  did  not  need  Ait 
Pikker's  shout  to  urge  them  forward  at  a  gallop,  lest 
after  all  they  should  arrive  too  late. 

"They  have  brought  him  out  to  die,"  cried  Joan. 
"  Ride  for  the  young  man's  life  !  " 

But  all  their  careful  plans  and  scrupulous  intents 
were  in  a  moment  cast  to  the  winds  by  the  urgency  of 
the  need.  Expecting  to  find  themselves  instantly  cap- 
tives, they  found  themselves  instead  among  a  stout  and 

340 


To  the  Rescue*  '     , 

independent  people,  stirred  to  the  highest  point  of  hatred 
and  excited  disgust  by  the  cruelty  of  the  scene  and  the 
horror  which  they  knew  must  too  certainly  ensue ;  angry 
also  and  apprehensive  lest  their  Prince  had  delivered 
over  their  free  German  land  to  the  Muscovite  lord  who 
was  no  better  than  a  tyrant  and  a  pagan. 

The  armour  in  which  they  saw  then-  favourite  Prince 
Conrad  clad  raised  the  highest  hopes,  not  only  among 
the  populace,  but  in  the  army  of  Couitland  itself.  It 
had  long  been  a  standing  toast  in  every  guardroom,  "  To 
the  succession  of  the  cowl !  "  For  they  looked  to  their 
ideal  knight,  Conrad,  that  hero  without  stain,  to  deliver 
their  country  from  the  degrading  weakness  and  subserv- 
ience of  the  reign  of  Louis,  and  especially  from  the  in- 
truding Muscovite  and  hated  Cossack  who  had  supplanted 
ihemselves  as  guards  in  the  very  palace  of  their  Prince. 

Hence  the  shouts  of  "  Prince  Conrad  !  "  "  Our 
deliverer  !  "  "  The  true  Prince  !  "  "  Down  with 
Louis  !  "  "  Drive  out  the  Russ  !  "  which  saluted  them 
everywhere  as  the  cavalcade  advanced  slowly  through  the 
press. 


34  J 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    TRUTH-SPEAKING    OF    BORIS    AND    JORIAN 

THIS  is  the  report  of  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian, 
which  they  gave  in  face  of  their  sovereigns  in 
the  garden  pleasaunce  of  the  palace  of  Plassenburg. 
Hugo  and  Helene  sat  at  opposite  ends  of  a  seat  oi 
twisted  branches.  Hugo  crossed  his  legs  and  whistled 
low  with  his  thumbs  in  the  slashing  of  his  doublet,  a 
habit  of  which  Helene  had  long  striven  in  vain  to  cure 
him.  The  Princess  was  busy  broidering  the  coronated 
double  eagle  of  a  new  banner,  but  occasionally  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  where  on  the  green  slope  beneath,  under  the 
wing  of  a  sage  woman  of  experience,  the  youthful  hope 
of  Plassenburg  led  his  mimic  armies  to  battle  against  the 
lilies  along  the  orchard  wall,  or  laid  lance  in  rest  to 
storm  the  too  easy  fortress  of  his  nurse's  lap. 

"  Boris,"  whispered  Jorian,  "  remember  !  "  Do  not 
lie,  Boris.  'T  is  too  dangerous.  You  remember  the 
last  time  ?  " 

"Ay,"  growled  Boris.  "I  have  good  cause  to  re- 
member! What  a  liar  our  Hugo  must  have  been  so 
readily  to  suspect  two  honest  soldiers  !  " 

"  Speak  out  your  minds,  good  lads  1  "  said  Hugo, 
leaning  a  little  further  back. 

"  Ay,  tell  us  all,"  assented  Helene,  pausing  to  shake 
her  head  at  the  antics  of  young  Prince  Karl;  "tell  us 
how  you  delivered  the  Sparhawk,  as  you  call  him,  the 
officer  of  the  Duchess  Joan  !  " 

3^2 


Truth-Speaking  of  Boris  and  Joriao 

So  Boris  saluted  and  bejjan. 

"  The  tale  is  a  long  one,  Prince  and  Princess,"  he 
said.  "  Of  our  many  and  difficult  endeavours  to  keep 
the  peace  and  prevent  quarrelling  I  will  say  nothing  —  " 

"  Better  so  !  "  interjected  Hugo,  u^ith  a  gleam  in  his 
eye.  Jorian  coughed  and  growled  to  himself,  "That 
long  fool  will  make  a  mess  of  it  !  " 

"  I  will  pass  on  to  our  entry  Into  Courtland.  It  was 
like  the  home-coming  of  a  long-lost  true  prince.  There 
was  no  fighting  —  alack,  not  so  much  as  a  stroke  after 
all  that  bother  of  shouting  !  " 

"  Boris  !  "  said  the  Princess  warningly. 

"  Give  him  rope  !"  muttered  Prince  Hugo.  "  He  will 
tangle  himself  rarely  or  he  be  done  !  " 

"  I  mean  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven  there  was  no 
bloodshed,"  Boris  corrected  himself.  "  There  was,  as  I 
say,  no  fighting.  There  was  none  to  fight  with.  Prince 
Louis  had  not  a  friend  in  his  own  capital  city,  saving 
the  Muscovite.  And  at  that  moment  Prince  Ivan  the 
Wasp  was  glad  enough  to  win  clear  off'  to  the  frontier 
with  his  Cossacks  at  his  tail.  It  was  a  God's  pity  we 
could  not  ride  them  down.  But  though  Jorian  and  I 
did  all  that  men  could  —  " 

"  Ahem  !  "  said  Jorian,  as  if  a  fly  had  flown  into  his 
mouth  and  tickled  his  throat. 

"I  mean,  your  Highnesses,  we  did  whatever  men 
could  to  keep  the  populace  within  bounds.  But  they 
broke  through  and  leaped  upon  us,  throwing  their  arms 
about  our  horses'  necks,  crying,  '  Our  saviours  !  '  '  Our 
deliverers  !  *  God  wot,  we  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
charge  through  the  billows  of  the  Baltic  when  it  blows 
a  norther  right  from  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia!  But  it  al- 
most broke  my  heart  to  see  them  ride  off"  with  never  a 
spear-thrust  through  one  single  Muscovite  belly-band  !  " 

343 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Here  Jorian  had  a  fit  of  coughing  which  caused  the 
Princess  to  look  severely  upon  him.  Boris,  recalled  to 
himself,  proceeded  more  carefully. 

"  It  was  all  we  could  do  to  open  up  a  way  to  where 
the  young  man  Maurice  lay  stretched  on  the  Cross  of 
Death.  They  had  loosed  the  wild  horses  before  we 
arrived,  and  these  had  galloped  off  after  their  companions. 
A  pity  !      Oh,  a  great  pity  ! 

"  Then  came  the  young  man's  mother  near,  she  who 
was  our  hostess  at  Isle  Rugen  —  " 

"Why  did  you  not  abide  at  Kernsberg,  as  you  were 
instructed  ?  "  put  in  Hugo  at  this  point. 

"  Never  m.ind  —  go  on  —  tell  the  tale  !  "  said  Helene, 
who  was  listening  breathlesslv. 

"  We  thought  it  our  duty  to  accompany  the  Duchess 
Joan,"  said  Boris,  deftly  enough ;  "  where  the  king  is, 
ihere  is  the  court !  " 

And  the  two  captains  saluted  very  dutifully  and  respect- 
fully, like  machines  moved  by  one  spring. 

"  Well  said  for  once,  thou  overly  long  one,"  growled 
Jorian,   under  his  breath. 

"  Go  on  !  "  commanded  Helene. 

"  The  young  man's  mother  came  near  and  threw  a 
cloak  across  his  naked  body.  Then  Jorian  and  I  un- 
bound him  and  chafed  his  limbs,  first  removing  the  gag 
from  his  mouth  ;  but  so  tightly  had  the  cords  been  bound 
about  him  that  for  long  he  could  not  stand  upright. 
Then,  from  the  royal  pavilion,  where  she  had  been 
brought  for  cruel  sport  to  see  the  death,  the  Princess 
Margaret  came  running  —  " 

"  Oh,  wickedness  !  "  cried  Helene,  "  to  make  her  look 
on  at  her  lover's  death  !  " 

"  She  came  furiously,  though  a  dainty  princess,  thrust- 
ing strong  men    aside.     '  Way    there  ! '   she  cried,  '  on 

344 


Truth-Speaking  of  Boris  and  Jorian 

your  lives  make  way !  I  will  go  to  him.  I  am  the 
Princess  Margaret.  Give  me  a  dagger  and  I  will  prick 
me  a  way.' 

"  And,  by  Saint  Stephen  the  holy  martyr !  if  she  did 
not  snatch  a  bodkin  from  the  belt  of  a  tailor  of  the  High 
Street  and  with  it  open  up  her  way  as  featly  as  though 
she  were  handling   a  Cossack  lance." 

"  And  what  happened  when  she  got  to  him  —  when 
she  found  her  husband  ? "  cried  Helene,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling. And  she  put  out  a  hand  to  touch  her  own,  just  to 
be  sure  that  he  was  there. 

"  Truth,  a  very  wondrous  thing  happened ! "  said 
Jorian,  whose  fingers  also  had  been  twitching,  "  a  might- 
ily wondrous  thing.     Thus  it  was  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sausage-bag  !  "  growled  Boris,  very 
low  ;  "  who  tells  this  tale,  you  or  I  ?  " 

"  Get  on,  then,"  answered  in  like  fashion  Captain 
Jorian,  "  You  are  as  long-winded  and  wheezy  as  a 
smith's  bellows  !  " 

"Yes,  a  strange  thing  it  was.  I  was  standing  by 
Maurice  von  Lynar,  undoing  the  cord  from  his  neck. 
His  mother  was  chafing  an  arm.  The  Lady  Joan  was 
bending  to  speak  softly  to  him,  for  she  had  dismounted 
from  her  horse,  when,  all  in  the  snapping  of  a  twig,  the 
Princess  Margaret  came  bursting  through  the  rinp-  which 
Jorian  and  the  Kernsbergers  were  keeping  with  their 
lance-butts.  She  thrust  us  all  aside.  By  my  faith,  me 
she  sent  spinning  like  the  young  Prince's  top  there  !  " 

"  God  save  his  Excellency  !  "  quoth  Jorian,  not  to  be 
left  out  entirely. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  Helene,  with  an  imperious  stamp  of 
her  little  foot ;  "  and  do  you,  Boris,  tell  the  tale  without 
comparisons.      What  happened  then  ?  " 

"  Only  the  boy's  mother  kept  her  ground  ?     She  went 

345 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

on   chafing   his    arm   without   so    much    as    raising    her 
eyes." 

"  Did  the  Princess  serve  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  as 
she  served  you  ?  "  interposed  Hugo. 

"  Marry,  worse  !  "  cried  Boris,  growing  excited  for  the 
first  time.  "  She  thrust  her  aside  like  a  kitchen  wench, 
and  our  lady  took  it  as  meekly  as  —  as  — " 

''  Go  on  !  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  spare  us  your  com- 
paratives !  "  cried  Helene  the  Princess,  letting  her  broid- 
ery slip  to  the  ground. 

"  Well,  "  said  Boris,  quickly  sobered,  "  It  was  in  truth 
a  mighty  quaint  thing  to  see.  The  Princess  Margaret 
took  the  young  man  in  her  arms  and  caught  him  to  her. 
The  Lady  Theresa  kept  his  wrist.  They  looked  at  each 
other  a  moment  without  speech,  eye  countering  eye  like 
knights  at  a  —  " 

"  Go  on  !  "  the  Princess  thundered,  if  indeed  a  silvern 
voice  can  be  said  to  thunder. 

"  '  Give  him  up  to  me  !  He  is  mine  ! '  cried  the 
Princess. 

"  '  He  is  mine  ! '  answered  very  haughtily  the  lady  of 
the  Isle  Rugen.  '  Who  are  you  ? '  '  And  you  ? '  cried 
both  at  once,  flinging  their  heads  back,  but  never  for  a 
moment  letting  go  with  their  hands.  The  youth,  being 
dazed,  said  nothing,  nor  so  much  as  moved. 

'"  I  am  his  mother  !  '  said  the  Lady  Theresa,  speaking 
first. 

" '  I  am  his  wife ! '  said  the  Princess. 

"  Then  the  woman  who  had  borne  the  young  man  gav  ^ 
him  into  his  wife's  arms  without  a  word,  and  the  Princess 
gathered  him  to  her  bosom  and  crooned  over  him,  that 
being  her  right.  But  his  mother  stepped  back  among 
the  crowd  and  drew  the  hood  of  her  cloak  over  her  head 
that  no  man  might  look  upon  her  face." 

34(> 


Truth-Speaking  of  Boris  and  Jorian 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  Helene,  clapping  her  hands,  "  it  ivai 
her  right !  " 

"  Little  one,"  said  her  husband,  pointing  to  the  boy  on 
the  terrace  beneath,  who  was  lashing  a  toy  horse  of  wood 
with  all  his  baby  might,  "  I  wonder  if  you  will  think  so 
when  another  woman  take?  him  from  you  !  " 

The  Princess  Helene  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"  That  would  be  very  different !  "  she  said,  "  yes,  very 
different !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Hugo,  the  Prince,  her  husband. 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

THE    FEAR    THAT    IS    IN    LOVE 

THUS  the  climax  came  about  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  but  the  universal  turmoil  and  wild  jubila- 
lation  in  which  Prince  Louis's  power  and  government 
were  swept  away  had  really  been  preparing  for  years, 
though  the  end  fell  sharp  as  the  thunderclap  that  breaks 
the  weather  after  a  season  of  parching  heat. 

For  all  that,  the  trouble  was  only  deferred,  not  re- 
moved. The  cruel  death  of  Maurice  von  Lynar  had 
been  rendered  impossible  by  the  opportune  arrival  of 
Prince  Conrad  and  the  sudden  revolution  which  the 
«ight  of  his  noble  and  beloved  form,  clad  in  armour, 
produced  among  the  disgusted  and  impulsive  Court- 
landers. 

Yet  the  arch-foe  had  only  recoiled  in  order  that  he 
might  the  further  leap.  The  great  army  of  the  White 
Czar  was  encamped  just  across  the  frontier,  nominally 
on  the  march  to  Poland,  but  capable  of  being  in  a 
moment  diverted  upon  the  Princedom  of  Courtland. 
Here  was  a  pretext  of  invasion  ripe  to  Prince  Ivan's 
hand.  So  he  kept  Louis,  the  dethroned  and  extruded' 
prince,  close  beside  him.  He  urged  his  father,  by  every 
tie  of  friendship  and  interest,  to  replace  that  prince  upon 
his  throne.  And  the  Czar  Paul,  well  knowing  that 
the  restoration  of  Louis  meant  nothing  less  than  the 
incorporation  of  Courtland  with  his  empire,  hastened  to 
carry  out  his  son's  advice. 

.348 


The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 

In  Courtland  itself  there  was  no  confusion.  A  cer- 
tain grim  determination  took  possession  of  the  people. 
They  had  made  their  choice,  and  they  would  abide  by 
it.  They  had  chosen  Conrad  to  be  their  ruler,  as  he 
had  long  been  their  hope ;  and  they  knew  that  now 
Louis  was  for  ever  impossible,  save  as  a  cloak  for  the 
Muscovite  dominion. 

It  had  been  the  first  act  of  Conrad  to  summon  to 
him  all  the  archpriests  and  heads  of  chapels  and  mon- 
asteries by  virtue  of  his  office  as  Cardinal-Archbishop. 
He  represented  to  them  the  imminent  danger  to  Holy 
Church  of  yielding  to  the  domination  of  the  Greek 
heretic.  Whoever  was  spared,  the  Muscovite  would 
assuredly  make  an  end  of  them.  He  promised  absolu- 
tion from  the  Holy  Father  to  all  who  would  assist  in 
bulwarking  religion  and  the  Church  of  Peter  against 
invasion  and  destruction.  He  himself  would  for  the 
time  being  lay  aside  his  office  and  fight  as  a  soldier  in 
the  war  which  was  before  them.  Every  consideration 
must  give  way  to  that.  Then  he  would  lay  the  whole 
matter  at  the  feet  of  the  Holv  Father  in  Rome. 

So  throughout  every  town  and  village  in  Courtland 
the  war  of  the  Faith  was  preached.  No  presbytery  but 
became  a  recruiting  office.  Every  pulpit  was  a  trumpet 
proclaiming  a  righteous  war.  There  was  to  be  no  sal- 
vation for  any  Courtlander  save  in  defending  his  faith 
and  country.  There  was  no  hope  save  in  the  blessed 
rule  of  Prince  Conrad,  at  once  worthy  Prince  of  the 
Blood,  Prince  of  Holy  Church,  and  defender  of  our 
blessed  religion.  Prince  Louis  was  a  deserter  and  a 
heretic.  The  Pope  would  depose  him,  even  as  (most 
likely)  he  had  cursed  him  already. 

So,  thus  encouraged,  the  country  rose  behind  the 
retiring  Muscovite,  and   Prince   Louis    was    conducted 

349 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

across  the  boundary  of  his  princedom  under  the  bitter 
thunder  of  cannon  and  the  hiss  of  Courtland  arrows. 
And  the  craven  trembled  as  he  listened  to  the  shouted 
maledictions  of  his  own  people,  and  begged  for  a  com- 
mon coat,  lest  his  archer  guard  should  distinguish  their 
late  Prince  and  point  their  clothyard  shafts  at  him  as  he 
cowered  a  little  behind  Prince  Ivan's  shoulder. 

Meanwhile  Joan,  casting  aside  with  an  exultant  leap 
of  the  heart  her  intent  to  make  of  herself  an  obedient 
wife,  rode  back  to  Kernsberg  in  order  to  organize  all 
the  forces  there  to  meet  the  common  foe.  It  was  to 
be  the  last  fight  of  the  Teuton  Northland  for  freedom 
and  faith. 

The  Muscovite  does  not  go  back,  and  if  Courtland 
were  conquered  Kernsberg  could  not  long  stand.  To 
Plassenburg  (as  we  have  seen)  rode  Boris  and  Jorian 
to  plead  for  help  from  their  Prince  and  Princess. 
Dessauer  had  already  preceded  them,  and  the  armies, 
disciplined  and  equipped  by  Prince  Karl,  were  already 
on  the  march  to  defend  their  frontiers  —  it  mieht  be  to 
go  farther  and  fight  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Court- 
land  and  Kernsberg  against  the  common  foe. 

And  if  all  this  did  not  happen,  it  would  not  be  the 
fault  of  those  honest  soldiers  and  admirable  diplomatists. 
Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,  captains  of  the  Palace  Guard 
of  Plassenburg. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

The  presence  of  Prince  Conrad  in  the  city  of  Court- 
land  seemed  to  change  entirely  the  character  of  the  peo- 
ple. From  being  somewhat  frivolous  they  became 
devoted  to  the  severest  military  discipline.  Nothing 
was  heard  but  words  of  command  and  the  ordered  tramp 
of  marching  feet.  The  country  barons  and  knights 
brought   in   their   forces,  and  their  tents,   all   gay   with 

35° 


The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 

banners  and  fluttering  pennons,  stretched  white  along  the 
Alia  for  a  mile  and  more. 

The  word  was  on  every  lip,  "  When  will  they 
come  ?  " 

For  already  the  Muscovite  allies  of  Prince  Louis  had 
crossed  the  frontier  and  were  moving  towards  Courtland, 
destroying  everj'thing  in  their  track. 

The  day  after  the  deliverance  of  the  Sparhawk,  Joan 
announced  her  intention  of  riding  on  the  morrow  to 
Kernsberg.  Maurice  von  Lynar  and  Von  Orseln  would 
accompany  her. 

"  Then,"  cried  Margaret  instantly,  "  I  will  go,  too  !  " 
*'  The  ride  would  be  over  toilsome  for  you,"  said 
Joan,  pausing  to  touch  her  friend's  hair  as  she  looked 
forth  from  the  window  of  the  Castle  of  Courtland  at  the 
Sparhawk  ordering  about  a  company  of  stout  country- 
men in  the  courtyard  beneath. 

"  I  will  go  !  "  said  Margaret  wilfully.  "  I  shall  never 
let  him  out  of  my  sight  again  !  " 

"  We  shall  be  back  within  the  week  !  You  will  be 
both  safer  and  more  comfortable  here  !  " 

The  Princess  Margaret  withdrew  her  head  from  the 
open  window,  momentarily  losing  sight  of  her  husband 
and  making  vain  her  last  words. 

"  Ah,  Joan,"  she  said  reproachfully,  "  you  are  wise 
and  strong  —  there  is  no  one  like  you.  But  you  do  not 
know  what  it  is  to  be  married.  You  never  were  in  love. 
How,  then,  can  you  understand  the  feeHngs  of  a  wife  ?  " 
She  looked  out  of  the  window  again  and  waved  a 
kerchief. 

"  Oh,  Joan,"  she  looked  back  again  with  a  mournful 
countenance,  "  I  do  believe  that  Maurice  does  not  love 
me  as  I  love  him.  He  never  took  the  least  notice  of 
me  when  I  waved  to  him  !  " 

351 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

*'  How  could  he,"  demanded  Joan,  the  soldier's 
daughter,  sharply,  "  he  was  on  duty  !  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Margaret,  still  resentful  and  un- 
consoled,  "  he  would  not  have  done  that  before  we  were 
married  !  And  it  is  only  the  first  day  we  have  been  to- 
gether, too,  since  —  since " 

And  she  buried  her  head  in  her  kerchief. 

Joan  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  a  tender  smile. 
Then  she  gave  a  little  sigh  and  went  over  to  her  friend. 
She  laid  her  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  knelt  down  beside 
her. 

"  Margaret,"  she  whispered,  "you  used  to  be  so  brave. 
When  I  was  here,  and  had  to  fight  the  Sparhawk's  battles 
with  Prince  Wasp,  you  were  as  headstrong  as  any  young 
squire  desiring  to  win  his  spurs.  You  wished  to  see  us 
fight,  do  you  remember?  " 

The  Princess  took  one  corner  of  her  white  and  dainty 
kerchief  away  from  her  eyes  in  order  to  look  yet  more 
reproachfully  at  her  friend. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  that  shows  !  Of  course,  I  knew. 
You  were  not  he^  you  see ;   I  knew  that  in  a  moment." 

Joan  restrained  a  smile.  She  did  not  remind  her 
friend  that  then  she  had  never  seen  "  him."  The  Prin- 
cess Margaret  went  on. 

"  Joan,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "  I  wish  to  ask  you 
something  !  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sweet  petitionary  grace. 

"  Say  on,  little  one  !  "  said  Joan  smiling. 

"  There  will  be  a  battle,  Joan,  will  there  not  ?  " 

Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  nodded.  She  took  a  long 
breath  and  drew  her  head  further  back.  Margaret 
noted  the  action. 

"  It  is  very  well  for  you,  Joan,"  she  said  ;  "  I  know 
you   are   more   than   half  a   man.      Everyone   says   so. 

352 


The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 

And  then  you  do  not  love  anyone,  and  you  like  fighting. 
But  —  you  may  laugh  if  you  will  —  I  am  not  going  to 
let  my  husband  fight.  I  want  you  to  let  him  go  to 
Plassenburg  till  it  is  over !  " 

Joan  laughed  aloud. 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  said,  still  smiling  good-naturedly. 

It  was  now  Margaret's  turn  to  draw  herself  up. 

"  You  are  not  kind  !  "  she  said.  "  I  am  asking  you 
a  favour  for  my  husband,  not  for  myself.  Of  course 
I  should  accompany  him !  /  am  free  to  come  and 
go!" 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Joan  gently,  "you  are  at 
liberty  to  propose  this  to  your  husband  !  If  he  comes 
and  asks  me,  he  shall  not  lack  permission." 

"  You  mean  he  would  not  go  to  Plassenburg  even  if  I 
asked  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  would  not  —  he,  the  bravest  soldier,  the 
best  knight  —  " 

There  came  a  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Enter  !  "  cried  Joan  imperiously,  yet  not  a  little  glad 
of  the  interruption. 

Werner  von  Orseln  stood  in  the  portal.  Joan  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"My  lady,"  he  said,  "will  you  bid  the  Count  von 
Loen  leave  his  work  and  take  some  rest  and  sustenance. 
He  thinks  of  nothing  but  his  drill." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  does,"  cried  the  Princess  Margaret; 
"  how  dare  you  say  it,  fellow  ?  He  thinks  of  me ! 
Why,  even  now  —  " 

She  looked  once  more  out  of  the  window,  a  smile 
upon  her  face.  Instantly  she  drew  in  her  head  again 
and  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  he  is  gone  !  I  cannot  see  him  anywhere  !  '* 
she  criied,  "and  I  never  so  much  as  heard  them  go.I 

23  353 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Joan,  I  am  going  to  find  him.  He  should  not  have 
gone  away  without  bidding  me  good-bye !  It  was 
cruel !  " 

She  flashed  out  of  the  room,  and  without  waiting  for 
tiring  maid  or  coverture,  she  ran  downstairs,  dressed  as 
she  was  in  her  light  summer  attire. 

Joan  stood  a  moment  silent,  looking  after  her  with 
eyes  in  which  flashed  a  tender  light.  Werner  von 
Orseln  smiled  broadly  —  the  dry  smile  of  an  ancient 
war-captain  who  puts  no  bounds  to  the  vagaries  of 
women.     It  was  an  experienced  smile. 

"  'T  Is  well  for  Kernsberg,  my  lady,"  said  Werner 
grimly,  "  that  you  are  not  the  Princess  Margaret." 

"  And  why  .?  "  said  Joan  a  little  haughtily.  For  she 
did  not  like  Conrad's  sister  to  be  treated  lightly  even  by 
her  chief  captain. 

"  Ah,  love,  love ! "  said  Werner,  nodding  his  head 
sententiously.  "  It  is  well  that  I  ever  trained  you  up  to 
care  for  none  of  these  things.  Teach  a  maid  to  fence, 
and  her  honour  needs  no  champion.  Give  her  sword- 
cunning  and  you  keep  her  from  making  a  fool  of  herself 
about  the  first  man  who  crosses  her  path.  Strengthen 
her  wrist,  teach  her  to  lunge  and  parry,  and  you  strengthen 
her  head.  But  you  do  credit  to  your  instructor.  You 
have  never  troubled  about  the  follies  of  love.  Therefore 
are  ye  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  !  " 

Joan  sighed  another  sigh,  very  softly  this  time,  and 
her  eyes,  being  turned  away  from  Von  Orseln,  were  soft 
and  indefinitely  hazy. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand,  and  I  never  think  of  these  things  !  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  cried  cheerfully  ;  "  why  should 
you  ?  Ah,  if  only  the  Princess  Margaret  had  had  an 
ancient  Werner  von  Orseln  to  teach  her  how  to  drill  a 

354 


The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 

hole  in  a  fluttering  jackanapes  !     Then  we  would  have 
had  less  of  this  meauling  !  " 

"Silence,"  said  Joan  quickly.      "She  is  here." 

And  the  Princess  came  running  in  with  joy  in  her 
face.  Instinctively  Werner  drew  back  into  the  shadow 
of  the  window  curtain,  and  the  smile  on  his  face  grew 
more  grimly  experienced  than  ever. 

"  Oh,  Joan,"  cried  the  Princess  breathlessly,  "  he  had 
not  really  gone  off  without  bidding  me  good-bye.  You 
remember  I  said  that  I  could  not  believe  it  of  him,  and 
you  see  I  was  right.  One  cannot  be  mistaken  about 
one's  husband  !  " 

"  No  ?  "   said  Joan  interrogatively. 

"  Never  —  so  long  as  he  loves  you,  that  is  !  "  said 
Margaret,  breathless  with  her  haste ;  "  but  when  you 
really  love  anyone,  you  cannot  help  getting  anxious  about 
them.  And  then  Ivan  or  Louis  might  have  sent  some- 
one to  carry  him  off  again  to  tear  him  to  pieces.  Oh, 
Joan,  you  cannot  know  all  I  suffered.  You  must  be 
patient  with  me.  I  think  it  was  seeing  him  bound  and 
about  to  die  that  has  made  me  like  this  !  " 

"  Margaret !  " 

Joan  went  quickly  towards  her  friend,  touched  with 
compunction  for  her  words,  and  resolved  to  comfort  her 
if  she  could.  It  was  true,  after  all,  that  while  she  and 
Conrad  had  been  happy  together  on  Isle  Rugen,  this  giri 
had  been  suffering. 

Margaret  came  towards  her,  smiling  through  her 
tears. 

"  But  I  have  thought  of  something,"  she  said,  bright- 
ening still  more ;  "  such  a  splendid  plan.  I  know 
Maurice  would  not  want  to  go  away  when  there  was 
fighting,  though  I  believe,  if  I  had  him  by  himself  for  an 
hour,  I  could  persuade  him  even  to  that,  for  my  sake." 

355 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

A  stifled  grunt  came  from  behind  the  curtains,  which 
represented  the  injury  done  to  the  feelings  of  Werner 
von  Orseln  by  such  unworthy  sentiments. 

The  Princess  looked  over  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
but  could  see  nothing.  Joan  moved  quietly  round,  so 
that  her  friend's  back  was  towards  the  window,  behind 
the  curtains  of  which  stood  the  war  captain. 

"  This  is  my  thought,"  the  Princess  went  on  more 
calmly.  "  Do  you,  Joan,  send  Maurice  on  an  embassy 
to  Plassenburg  till  this  trouble  is  over.  Then  he  will 
be  safe.     I  will  find  means  of  keeping  him  there  —  " 

A  stifled  groan  of  rage  came  from  the  window. 
Margaret  turned  sharply  about. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  cried,  taking  hold  of  her  skirts, 
as  the  habit  of  women   is. 

"  Someone  without  in  the  courtyard,"  said  Joan 
hastily  5  "a  dog,  a  cat,  a  rat  in  the  wainscot  —  any- 
thing!" 

"  It  sounded  like  something,"  answered  the  Princess, 
"but  surely  not  like  anything  !     Let  us  look." 

"  Margaret,"  said  Joan,  gently  taking  her  by  the  arm 
and  walking  with  her  towards  the  door,  "  Maurice  von 
Lynar  is  a  soldier  and  a  soldier's  son.  You  would  break 
his  heart  if  you  took  him  away  from  his  duty.  He 
would  not  love  you  the  same  ;  you  would  not  love  him 
the  same." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  would,"  said  Margaret,  showing  signs 
that  her  sorrow  might  break  out  afresh.  "  I  would  love 
him  more  for  taking  care  of  his  life  for  my  sake  !  " 

"You  know  you  would  not,  Margaret,"  Joan  per- 
sisted. "  No  woman  can  truly  and  fully  love  a  man 
whom  she  is  not  proud  of." 

"  Oh,  that  is  before  they  are  married  ! "  cried  the 
Princess  indignantly.     "  Afterwards  it  is  different.     You 

356 


The  Fear  that  is  in  Love 

find  out  things  then  —  and  love  them  all  the  same. 
But,  of  course,  how  should  I  expect  you  to  help  me  ? 
You  have  never  loved  ;  you  do  not  understand  !  "  And, 
without  another  word,  Margaret  of  Courtland,  who  had 
once  been  so  heart-free  and  d'ebonnaire^  went  out  sobbing 
like  a  fretted  child.  Hardly  had  the  door  closed  upon 
her  when  the  sound  of  stitled  laughter  broke  from  the 
window-seat.  Joan  indignantly  drew  the  curtains  aside 
and  revealed  Werner  von  Orseln  shaking  all  over  and 
vainly  striving  to  suppress  his  mirth  with  his  hands 
pressed  against  his   sides. 

At  sight  of  the  face  of  his  mistress,  which  was  very 
grave,  and  even  stern,  his  laughter  instantly  shut  itself 
off.  As  it  seemed,  with  a  single  movement,  he  raised 
himself  to  his  feet  and  saluted.  Joan  stood  looking  at 
him  a  moment  without  speech. 

''  Your  mirth  is  exceedingly  ill-timed,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  On  a  future  occasion,  pray  remember  that  the  Lady 
Margaret  is  a  Princess  and  my  friend.  You  can  go  ! 
We  ride  out  to-morrow  morning  at  five.  See  that 
everything  is  arranged." 

Once  more  Von  Orseln  saluted,  with  a  face  expres- 
sionless as  a  stone.  He  marched  to  the  door,  turned  a 
third  time  and  saluted,  and  with  heavy  footsteps  de- 
scended the  stairs  communing  with  himself  as  he 
went. 

"  That  was  salt,  Werner.  Faith,  but  she  gave  you 
the  back  of  the  sword-hand  that  time,  old  kerl !  Yet, 
't  was  most  wondrous  humorsome.  Ha !  ha !  But  I 
must  not  laugh  —  at  least,  not  here,  for  if  she  hear  me 
the  Kernsbergers  will  want  a  new  chief  captain.  Ha  \ 
ha!  No,  I  will  not  laugh.  Werner,  you  old  fool,  be 
quiet !  God's  grace,  but  she  looked  right  royal.  It  is 
worth  a  dressing  down  to  see  her  in  a  rage.      Faith,  I 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

would  rather  face  a  regiment  of  Muscovites  single- 
handed  than  cross  our  Joan  in  one  of  her  tantrums  !  " 

He  was  now  at  the  outer  door.  Prince  Conrad  was 
dismounting.     The  two  men  saluted  each  other. 

"  Is  the  Duchess  Joan  within  ?  "  said  Conrad,  conceal- 
ing his  eagerness  under  the  hauteur  natural  to  a  Prince. 

"  I  have  just  left  her  !  "  answered  the  chief  captain. 

Without  a  word  Conrad  sprang  up  the  steps  three  at 
a  time.  Werner  turned  about  and  watched  the  young 
man's  firm,  lithe  figure  till  it  had  disappeared. 

"  Faith  of  Saint  Anthony  !  "  he  murmured,  "  I  am 
right  glad  our  lady  cares  not  for  love.  If  she  did,  and 
if  you  had  not  been  a  priest  —  well,  there  might  have 
been  trouble." 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

THE    BROKEN    BOND 

ABOVE,  in  the  dusky  light  of  the  upper  hall,  Conrad 
and  Joan  stood  holding  each  other's  hands.  It 
was  the  first  time  they  had  been  alone  together  since  the 
day  on  which  they  had  walked  along  the  sand-dunes  of 
Rugen. 

Since  then  they  seemed  to  have  grown  inexplicably 
close  together.  To  Joan,  Conrad  now  seemed  much 
more  her  own  —  the  man  who  loved  her,  whom  she 
loved  —  than  he  had  been  on  the  Island.  To  watch 
day  by  day  for  his  passing  in  martial  attire  brought  back 
the  knight  of  the  tournament  whose  white  plume  she 
had  seen  storm  through  the  lists  when,  a  slim  secretary, 
she  had  stood  with  beating  heart  and  shining  eyes  behind 
the  chair  of  Leopold  von  Dessauer,  Ambassador  of 
Plassenburg. 

For  almost  five  minutes  they  stood  thus  without 
speech  ;  then  Joan  drew  away  her  hands. 

"  You  forget,"  she  said  smiling,  "  that  was  forbidden 
in  the  bond." 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  was  not  the  bond  for  Isle 
Rugen  alone  ?  Here  we  are  comrades  in  the  strife.  We 
must  save  our  fatherland.  I  have  laid  aside  my  priest- 
hood. If  I  live,  I  shall  appeal  to  the  Holy  Father  to 
loose  me  whoUv  from  my  vows." 

Smilingly  she  put  his  eager  argument  by. 

359 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  It  was  of  another  vow  I  spoke.  I  am  not  the  Holy 
Father,  and  for  this  I  will  not  give  you  absolution.  We 
are  comrades,  it  is  true  —  that  and  no  more  !  To- 
morrow I  ride  to  Kernsberg,  where  I  will  muster  every 
man,  call  down  the  shepherds  from  the  hills,  and  be  back 
with  you  by  the  Alia  before  the  Muscovite  can  attack 
you.     I,  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  promise  it !  " 

She  stamped  her  foot,  half  in  earnest  and  half  in 
mockery  of  the  sonorous  name  by  which  she  was  known. 

"  I  would  rather  you  were  Joan  of  the  Grange  at  Isle 
Rugen,  and  I  your  jerkmed  servitor,  cleaving  the  wood 
that  you  might  bake  the  bread." 

"  Conrad,"  said  Joan,  shaking  her  head  wistfully, 
"  such  thoughts  are  not  wise  for  you  and  me  to  harbour. 
I  may  indeed  be  no  duchess  and  you  no  prince,  but  we 
must  stand  to  our  dignities  now  when  the  enemy 
threatens  and  the  people  need  us.  Afterwards,  an  it 
like  us,  we  may  step  down  together.  But,  indeed,  I 
need  not  to  argue,  for  I  think  better  of  you,  my  com- 
rade, than  to  suppose  you  would  ever  imagine  anything 
else." 

"  Joan,"  said  Conrad,  very  gravely,  "  do  not  fear  for 
me.  I  have  turned  once  from  a  career  I  never  chose. 
Death  alone  shall  turn  me  back  this  time." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  never  doubted  it. 
But  what  shall  we  do  with  this  poor  lovesick  bride  of 
ours  ? " 

And  she  told  him  of  her  interview  that  morning  with 
his  sister.  Conrad  laughed  gently,  yet  with  sympathy  ; 
Margaret  had  always  been  his  "  little  girl,"  and  her  very 
petulances  were  dear  to  him. 

"  It  had  been  well  if  she  would  have  consented  to 
remain  here,"  he  said  ;  "  and  yet  I  do  not  know.  She 
is  not  built  for  rough  weather,  our  Gretchen.     We  are 

360 


The  Broken  Bond 

nearer  the  enemy,  and  many  things  may  happen.  Our 
soldiers  are  mostly  levies  in  Courtland,  and  the  land  has 
been  long  at  peace.  The  burghers  and  country  folk  are 
willing  enough,  but  — well,  perhaps  she  will  be  better 
with  you." 

"  She  swears  she  will  not  go  without  her  husband," 
said  Joan.  "  Yet  he  ought  to  remain  with  you.  I  do 
not  need  him ;  Werner  will  be  enough." 

"  Leave  me  Von  Orseln,  and  do  you  take  the  young 
man,"  said  Conrad ;  "  then  Margaret  will  go  with  you 
willingly  and  gladly." 

"  But  she  will  want  to  return  —  that  is,  if  Maurice 
comes,  too." 

"  Isle  Rugen  ?  "  suggested  Conrad.  "  Send  your  ten 
men  who  know  the  road.  If  they  could  carry  off  Joan 
of  the  Sword  Hand,  they  should  have  no  difficulty  with 
little  Margaret  of  Courtland." 

Joan  clapped  her  hands  with  pleasure  and  relief,  all 
unconscious  that  immediately  behind  her  Margaret  had 
entered  softly  and  now  stood  arrested  by  the  sound  of 
her  own  name. 

''  Oh,  they  will  have  no  trouble,  will  they  not .''  "  she 
said  in  her  own  heart,  and  smiled.  "  Isle  Rugen  ? 
Thank  you,  my  very  dear  brother  and  sister.  You 
would  get  rid  of  me,  separate  me  from  Maurice  while  he 
is  fighting  for  your  precious  princedoms.  What  is  a 
country  in  comparison  with  a  husband  .?  I  would  not 
care  a  doit  which  country  I  belonged  to,  so  long  as  I 
had  Maurice  with  me  !  " 

A  moment  or  two  Conrad  and  Joan  discussed  the 
details  of  the  capture,  while  more  softly  than  before 
Margaret  retired  to  the  door.  She  would  have  slipped 
out  altogether,  but  that  something  happened  just  then 
which  froze  her  to  the  spot. 

361 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

A  trumpet  blew  without  —  once,  twice,  and  thrice,  in 
short  and  stirring  blasts.  Hardly  had  the  echoes  died 
away  when  she  heard  her  brother  say,  "  Adieu,  best- 
beloved  !  It  is  the  signal  which  tells  me  that  Prince 
Ivan  is  within  a  day's  march  of  Courtland.  I  bid  vou 
good-bye,  and  if —  if  we  should  never  meet  again,  do 
not  forget  that  I  loved  you  —  loved  you  as  none  else 
could  love  !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Joan  stood  rooted  to  the  spot, 
her  lips  moving,  but  no  words  coming  forth.  Then 
Margaret  heard  a  hoarse  cry  break  from  her  who  had 
contemned  love. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go  thus  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  cannot 
keep  the  vow  !  It  is  too  hard  for  me  !  Conrad  !  I 
am  but  a  weak  woman  after  all !  " 

And  in  a  moment  the  Princess  Aiargaret  saw  Joan  the 
cold,  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand,  Joan  Duchess  of  Kerns- 
berg  and  Hohenstein  in  the  arms  of  her  brother. 

Whereupon,  not  being  of  set  purpose  an  eavesdropper, 
Margaret  went  out  and  shut  the  door  softly.  The  lovers 
had  neither  heard  her  come  nor  go.  And  the  wife  of 
Maurice  von  Lynar  was  smiling  very  sv/eetly  as  she 
went,  but  in  her  eyes  lurked  mischief. 

Conrad  descended  the  stair  from  the  apartments  of  the 
Duchess  Joan,  divided  between  the  certainty  that  his  lips 
had  tasted  the  unutterable  joy  and  the  fear  lest  his  soul 
had  sinned  the  unpardonable  sin. 

A  moment  Joan  steadied  herself  by  the  window,  with 
her  hand  to  her  breast  as  if  to  still  the  flying  pulses  of 
her  heart.  She  took  a  step  forward  that  she  might  look 
once  more  upon  him  ere  he  went.  But,  changing  her 
purpose  in  the  very  act,  she  turned  about  and  found  her- 
self face  to  face  with  the  Princess  Margaret,  who  was 
smiling   subtly. 

362 


The  Broken  Bond 

"  You  have  granted  my  request  ?  "  she  said  softly. 

Joan  commanded  herself  with  difficulty. 

"  What  request  ?  "  she  asked,  for  she  had  forgotten. 

"  That  Maurice  and  I  should  first  go  with  you  to 
Kernsberg  and  afterwards  to   Plassenburg." 

"  Let  me  think  —  let  me  think  -^  give  me  time  !  " 
said  Joan,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  looking  straight  be- 
fore her.  The  world  was  suddenly  full  of  whirling 
vapour  and  her  brain  turned  with  it. 

"  I  am  in  the  midst  of  troubles.  I  know  not  what  to 
do  !  "  she  murmured. 

"Ah,  it  was  quieter  at   Isle  Rugen,  was  it  not  ?  "  sug-* 
gested  Margaret,  who   had   not   forgiven   the   project  of 
kidnapping  her  and  carrying  her  off  from  her  husband. 

But  Joan  was  thinking  too  deeply  to  answer  or  even 
notice  any  taunt. 

"  I  cannot  go,"  she  murmured,  thinking  aloud.  "  1 
cannot  ride  to  Kernsberg  and  leave  him  in  the  front  of 
danger !  " 

"  A  woman's  place  is  at  home  !  "  said  Margaret  in  a 
low  tone,  maliciously   quoting  Joan's   words. 

"  He  must  not  fight  this  battle  alone.  Perhaps  I  shall 
never  see  him  again  !  " 

"  A  man  must  not  be  hampered  by  affection  in  the 
hour  of  danger !  " 

At  this  point  Joan  looked  at  Margaret  as  she  might 
have  done  at  a  puppy  that  worried  a  stick  to  attract  her 
attention. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  Prince  Ivan  and  his 
Muscovites  are  within  a  day's  march  of  Courtland,  and 
that  Prince  Conrad  has  already  gone  forth  to  meet 
them  ?  " 

"What  ?  "  cried  Margaret,  "  within  a  day's  march  of 
the  city  I     I  must  go  an4  find  my  husband." 

363 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Wait !  "  said  Joan.  "  I  see  my  way.  Your  hus- 
band shall  come   hither." 

She  went  to  the  door  and  clapped  her  hands.  An  at- 
tendant appeared,  one  of  the  faithful  Kernsberg  ten  to 
whom  so  much  had  been  committed  upon  the  Isle 
Rugen. 

"  Send  hither  instantly  Werner  von  Orseln,  Alt  Pikker, 
and  the  Count  von  Loen  !  " 

She  waited  with  the  latch  of  the  door  in  her  hand  till 
she  heard  their  footsteps  upon  the  stair.  They  entered  to- 
gether and  saluted.  Margaret  moved  instinctively  nearer 
*to  her  husband.  Indeed,  only  the  feeling  that  the  mo- 
ment was  a  critical  one  kept  her  from  running  at  once  to 
him.  As  for  Maurice,  he  had  not  yet  grown  ashamed  of 
his  wife's  open  manifestations  of  affection. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Joan,  "  the  enemy  is  at  the  gate 
of  the  city.  We  shall  need  every  man.  Who  will  ride 
to  Kernsberg  and  bring  back  succour  .?  " 

"  Alt  Pikker  will  go  !  "  said  Maurice  instantly,  "  he  is 
in  charge  of  the  levies  !  " 

"  The  Count  von  Loen  is  young.  He  will  ride  fast- 
est !  "  said  the  chief  captain. 

"  Werner  von  Orseln,  of  course  !  "  said  Alt  Pikker. 
*'  He  is  in  chief  command." 

"  What  ?  You  do  not  wish  to  go  ?  "  said  Joan  a  httle 
haughtily,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  them.  It  was 
Werner  von  Orseln  who  answered. 

"  Your  Highness,"  he  said  respectfully,  "  if  the  enemy 
be  so  near,  and  a  battle  imminent,  the  man  is  no  soldier 
who  would  willingly  be  absent.  But  we  are  your  ser- 
vants. Choose  you  one  to  go ;  or,  if  it  seem  good  to 
you,  more  than  one.  Bid  us  go,  and  on  our  heads  it 
shall  be  to  escort  you  safely  to  Kernsberg  and  bring  back 
reinforcements." 

364 


The  Broken  Bond 

The  Princess  came  closer  to  Joan  and  slipped  a  hand 
into  hers.  The  wrinkle  at  the  corner  of  Werner  von 
Orseln's  mouth  twitched. 

"  Von  Lynar  shall  go  !  "  said  Joan. 

Whereat  Maurice  held  down  his  head,  Margaret 
clapped  her  hands,  and  the  other  two  stood  stolidly 
awaiting  instructions,  as  became  their  position. 

"  At  what  hour  shall  I  depart,  my  lady  ^  "  said 
Maurice. 

"  Now  !     So  soon  as  you  can  get  the  horses  ready  !  " 

"  But  your  Grace  must  have  time  to  make  her 
preparations  !  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Kernsberg.  I  stay  here  !  "  said 
Joan,  stating  a  fact. 

Werner  von  Orseln  was  just  going  out  of  the  door, 
confiding  to  Alt  Pikker  that  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  Prin- 
cess put  her  hand  in  their  lady's  he  knew  they  were  safe. 
At  the  sound  of  Joan's  words  he  was  startled  into  crying 
out  loudly,  "  What  ?  "  At  the  same  time  he  faced  about 
with  the  frown  on  his  face  which  he  wore  when  he  cor- 
rected an  irregularity  in  the  ranks. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Kernsberg.  I  bide  here  !  "  Joan 
repeated  calmly.  "  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  that. 
Chief  Captain  von  Orseln  ?  " 

"  But,  my  lady  —  " 

"  There  are  no  buts  in  the  matter.  Go  to  your  quar- 
ters and  see  that  the  arms  and  armour  are  all  in  good 
case !  " 

"  Madam,  the  arms  and  armour  are  always  in  good 
case,"  said  Werner,  with  dignity  ;  "  but  go  to  Kernsberg 
you  must.  The  enemy  is  near  to  the  city,  and  your 
Highness  might  fall  into  their  hands." 

"  You  have  heard  what  I  have  said ! "  Joan  tapped 
the  oaken  floor  with  her  foot. 

365 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

**  But,  madam,  let  m.e  beseech  you  —  " 
Joan  turned   from   her  chief  captain  impatiently  and 
walked   towards    the    door    of   her    private    apartments. 
Werner  followed  his  mistress,  with  his  hands  a  little  out- 
stretched and  a  look  of  eager  entreaty  on  his  face. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  thirty  years  I  was  the  faith- 
ful servant  of  your  father  —  ten  I  have  served  you. 
By  the  memory  of  those  years,  if  I  have  served  you 
faithfully  —  " 

"  My  father  taught  you  but  little,  if  after  thirty  years 
you  have  not  learned  to  obey.      Go  to  your  post !  " 

Werner  von  Orseln  drew  himself  up  and  saluted. 
Then  he  wheeled  about  and  clanked  out  without  adding 
a  word  more. 

"  Faith,"  he  confided  to  Alt  Pikker,  "  the  wench  is 
her  father  all  over  again.  If  I  had  gone  a  step  further, 
I  swear  she  would  have  beat  me  with  the  flat  of  my  own 
sword.     I  saw  her  eye  on  the  hilt  of  it." 

"  Faith,  I,  too,  wished  that  I  had  been  better  helm- 
eted  !  "  chuckled  Alt  Pikker. 

"  Well,"  said  Werner,  like  one  who  makes  the  best 
of  ill  fortune,  "  we  must  keep  the  closer  to  her,  you  and 
I,  that  in  the  stress  of  battle  she  come  not  to  a  mischief. 
Yet  I  confess  that  I  am  not  deeply  sorry.  I  began  to 
fear  that  Isle  Rugen  had  sapped  our  lass's  spirit.  To  my 
mind,  she  seemed  somewhat  over  content  to  abide  there." 
"  Ah,"  nodded  Alt  Pikker,  "  that  is  because,  after  all, 
our  Joan  is  a  woman.  No  one  can  know  the  secret  of 
a  woman's  heart." 

"  And  those  who  think  they  know,  know  the  least !  " 
concurred  the  much  experienced  Werner. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  « 

For  a  moment  after  the  door  closed  upon  the  men, 
Joan  and  Margaret  stood  in  silence  regarding  each  other 

366 


The  Broken  Bond 

"  I  must  go  and  make  me  ready,"  said  Margaret, 
speaking  like  one  who  is  thinking  deeply.  Joan  stood 
still,  conscious  that  something  was  about  to  happen,  un- 
certain what  it  might  be. 

"  I  shall  see  you  before  I  depart,"  Margaret  was  say- 
ing, with  her  hand  on  the  latch. 

Suddenly  she  dropped  the  handle  of  the  door  and  ran 
impulsively  to  Joan,  clasping  her  about  the  neck. 

'•'■I  know!'"  she  said  looking  up  into  her  face. 

With  a  great  leap  the  blood  flew  to  Joan's  neck  and 
brow,  then  as  slowly  faded  away,  leaving  her  paler  than 
before. 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  she  faltered  ;  and  she  feared, 
yet  desired  to  hear. 

"  That  you  love  him  !  "  said  Margaret,  very  low.  "  I 
came  in  —  I  could  not  help  it  —  I  did  not  know  — • 
when  Conrad  was  bidding  you  good-bye.  Joan,  I  am 
so  glad  —  so  glad  !  Now  you  will  understand  ;  now 
you  will  not  think  me  foolish  ! " 

"  Margaret,  I  am  shamed  for  ever  —  it  is  sin  !  "  whis- 
pered Joan,  with  her  arms  about  her  friend. 

"  It  is  love  !  "  said  the  wife  of  Maurice  von  Lynar, 
with  glowing  eyes  and  pride  in  her  voice. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  die  in  battle  —  " 

"  Joan  !  " 

"la  wife,  and  love  a  priest  —  the  brother  of  the  man 
who  is  my  husband  !  I  pray  God  that  He  will  take  my 
life  to  atone  for  the  sin  of  loving  him.  Yet  He  knows 
I  could  neither  help  it  nor  yet  hmder." 

"  Joan,  you  will  yet  be  happy." 

The  Duchess  shook  her  head. 

"  It  were  best  for  us  both  that  I  should  die  —  that  is 
what  I  pray  for." 

"  May    Heaven    avert    this    thing  —  you    know    not 

36: 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

what  you  say.  And  yet,"  Margaret  continued  in 
a  more  meditative  tone,  "  I  am  not  sure.  If  he 
were  there  with  you,  death  itself  would  not  be  so  hard  j 
at  all  events,  it  were  better  than  living  without  each 
other." 

And  the  two  women  went  into  the  attiring  room  with 
arms  still  locked  about  each  other's  waists.  And  as 
often  as  their  eyes  encountered  they  lingered  a  little,  as  if 
tasting  the  new  knowledge  which  they  had  in  common. 
Then  those  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  were  averted, 
and  she  blushed. 


363 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

JOAN    GOVERNS    THE    CITY 

IT  was  night  In  the  city  of  Courtland,  and  a  time  of 
great  fear.  The  watchmen  went  to  and  fro  on  the 
walls,  staring  into  the  blank  dark.  The  Alia,  running 
low  with  the  droughts,  lapped  gently  about  the  piles  of 
the  Summer  Palace  and  hsped  against  the  bounding 
walls  of  the  city. 

But  ever  and  anon  from  the  east,  where  were  the 
camps  of  the  opposed  forces,  there  came  a  sound,  heavy 
and  sonorous,  like  distant  thunder.  Whereat  the  frighted 
wives  of  the  burghers  of  Courtland  said,  "  I  wonder  what 
mother's  son  lies  a-dying  now.  Hearken  to  the  talking 
of  Great  Peg,  the  Margraf's  cannon  !  " 

At  the  western  or  Brandenburg  gate  there  was  yet 
greater  fear.  For  the  news  had  spread  athwart  the  city 
that  a  great  body  of  horsemen  had  paused  in  front  of  it, 
and  were  being  held  in  parley  by  the  guard  on  duty,  till  the 
Lady  Joan,  Governor  of  the  city,  should  be  made  aware. 

"  They  swear  that  they  are  friends,"  —  so  ran  the 
report  —  "  which  is  proof  that  they  are  enemies.  For 
how  can  there  be  friends  who  are  not  Courtlanders  ? 
And  these  speak  an  outland  speech,  clacking  in  their 
throats,  hissing  their  s's,  and  laughing  '  Ho !  ho !  * 
instead  of  '  Hoch  !  hoch  ! '  as  all  Christians  do  !  " 

The  Governor  of  the  city,  roused  from  a  rare  slumber, 
leaped  on  her  horse  and  went  clattering  with  an  escort 
through  the  unsleeping  streets.     When  first  she  came 
24  369 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

the  folk  had  cheered  her  as  she  went.  But  they  were 
too  jaded  and  saddened  now. 

"  Our  Governor,  the  Princess  Joan  ! "  they  used  to 
call  her  with  pride.  But  for  all  that,  she  found  not  the 
same  devotion  among  the  easy  Courtlanders  as  among 
her  hardy  men  of  Hohenstein.  To  these  she  was  indeed 
the  Princess  Joan.  But  to  those  in  Castle  Kernsberg 
she  was  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand. 

When  at  last  she  came  to  the  Brandenburg  Gate  she 
found  before  it  a  great  gathering  of  the  townsfolk.  The 
city  guard  manned  the  walls,  fretted  with  haste  and 
falling  over  each  other  in  their  uncertainty.  There  was 
yet  no  strictness  of  discipline  among  these  trainbands, 
and,  instead  of  waiting  for  an  officer  to  hail  the  horse- 
men in  front,  every  soldier,  hackbutman,  and  halberdier, 
was  shouting  his  loudest,  till  not  a  word  of  reply  could 
be  heard. 

But  all  this  turmoil  vanished  before  the  first  fierce 
gust  of  Joan's  wrath  like  leaves  blown  away  by  the 
blasts  of  January. 

"  To  your  posts,  every  man  !  I  will  have  the  first 
man  spitted  with  ^rrows  who  disobeys  —  ay,  or  takes 
more  upon  himself  than  obedience  to  orders.  Let  such 
as  are  officers  onlv  abide  here  with  me.  Silence  beneath 
in  the  tower  there  !  " 

Looking  out,  Joan  could  see  a  dark  mass  of  horsemen, 
while  above  them  glinted  in  the  pale  starlight  a  forest  of 
spearheads. 

"  Whence  come  you,  strangers  ?  "  cried  Joan,  in  the 
loud  clear  voice  which  carried  so  far, 

•'  From  Plassenburg  we  are  !  "  came  back  the  answer. 

"  Who  leads  you  ?  " 

"  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,  officers  of  the  Prince's 
bodyguard." 

37° 


Joan  Governs  the  City 

"  Let  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian  approach  and  deliver 
their  message." 

"  With  whom  are  we  in  speech  ?  "  cried  the  unmis- 
takable voice  of  long  Boris. 

"  With  the  Princess  Joan  of  Hohenstein,"  Governor 
of  the  city  of  Courtland,"  said  Joan  firmly. 

"  Come  on,  Boris ;  those  Courtland  knaves  will  not 
shoot  us  now.  That  is  the  voice  of  Joan  of  the  Sword 
Hand.     There  can  be  no  treachery  where  she  is." 

"  Ho,  below  there  !  "  cried  Joan.  "  Shine  a  light  on 
them  from  the  upper  sally  port." 

The  lantern  flashed  out,  and  there,  immediately  below 
her,  Joan  beheld  Boris  and  Jorian  saluting  as  of  old,  with 
the  simultaneous  gesture  which  had  grown  so  familiar 
to  her  during  the  days  of  Isle  Rugen.  She  was  moved 
to  smile  in  spite  of  the  soberness  of  the  circumstances. 

"  What  news  bring  you,  good  envoys  ?  " 

"  The  best  of  news,"  they  said,  with  one  accord,  but 
stopped  there  as  if  they  had  no  more  to  say. 

"  And  that  news  is  —  " 

"  First,  we  are  here  to  fight.  Pray  you  tell  us  If  it  is 
all  over !  " 

"It  is  not  over;  would  to  Heaven  it  were!"  said 
Joan. 

"  Thank  God  for  that !  "  cried  Boris  and  Jorian,  with 
quite  remarkable  unanimity  of  piety. 

"  Is  that  all  your  tidings  ?  " 

"  Nay,  we  have  brought  the  most  part  of  the  Palace 
Guard  with  us  —  five  hundred  good  lances  and  all 
hungry-bellied  for  victuals  and  all  monstrously  thirsty  in 
their  throats.  Besides  which,  Prince  Hugo  raises  Plas- 
senburg  and  the  Mark,  and  in  ten  days  he  will  be  on  the 
march  for  Courtland." 

"  God  send  him  speed  !      I  fear  me  in  ten  days  it  will 

371 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

be  over  indeed,"  said  Joan,  listening  for  the  dull  recur- 
rent thunder  down  towards  the  Alia  mouth. 

"  What,  does  the  Muscovite  press  you  so  hard  ?  " 

"He  has  thousands  to  our  hundreds,  so  that  he  can 
hem  us  in  on  every  side." 

"  Never  fear,"  cried  Boris  confidently  ;  "  we  will  hold 
him  in  check  for  you  till  our  good  Hugo  comes  to  take 
him  on  the  flank." 

Then  Joan  bade  the  gates  be  opened,  and  the  horse- 
men of  Plassenburg,  strong  men  on  great  horses, 
trampled  in.  She  held  out  a  hand  for  the  captains  to 
kiss,  and  sent  the  burgomaster  to  assign  them  billets  in 
the  town. 

Then,  without  resting,  she  went  to  the  wool  market, 
which  had  been  turned  into  a  soldiers'  hospital.  Here 
she  found  Theresa  von  Lynar,  going  from  bed  to  bed 
smoothing  pillows,  anointing  wounded  limbs,  and  assist- 
ing the  surgeons  in  the  care  of  those  who  had  been 
brought  back  from  the  fatal  battlefields  of  the  Alia. 

Theresa  von  Lynar  rose  to  meet  Joan  as  she  entered, 
with  all  the  respect  due  to  the  city's  Governor.  Silently 
the  young  girl  beckoned  her  to  follow,  and  they  went 
out  between  long  lines  of  pallets.  Here  and  there  a 
torch  glimmered  in  a  sconce  against  the  wall,  or  a 
surgeon  with  a  candle  in  his  hand  paused  at  a  bedside. 
The  sough  of  moaning  came  from  all  about,  and  in  a 
distant  window-bay,  unseen,  a  man  distract  with  fever 
jabbered  and  fought. 

Never  had  Joan  realised  so  nearly  the  reverse  side  of 
war.  Never  had  she  so  longed  for  the  peace  of  Isle 
Rugen.  She  could  govern  a  city.  She  could  lead  a 
foray.  She  was  not  afraid  to  ride  into  battle,  lance  in 
rest  or  sword  in  hand.  But  she  owned  to  herself  that 
she  could  not  do  what  this  woman  was  doing. 

372 


Joan  Governs  the  City 

"  Remember,  when  all  is  over  I  shall  keep  my  vow  !  " 
Joan  began,  as  they  paused  and  looked  down  the  long 
alley  of  white  pillows,  tossing  heads,  and  torn  limbs  lying 
very  still  on  palliasses  of  straw.  Without,  some  of  the 
riotous  youth  of  the  city  were  playing  martial  airs  on 
twanging  instruments. 

"  And  I  also  will  keep  mine  !  "  responded  Theresa 
briefly. 

"  I  am  Duchess  and  city  Governor  only  till  the  invader 
is  driven  out,"  Joan  continued.  "  Then  Isle  Rugen  is 
to  be  mine,  and  your  son  shall  sit  in  the  seat  of  Henry 
the  Lion  !  " 

"  Isle  Rugen  shall  be  yours  !  "  answered  Theresa. 

"And  when  you  are  tired  of  Castle  Kernsberg  you 
will  cross  the  wastes  and  take  boat  to  visit  me,  even  as 
at  the  first  I  came  to  you  !  "  said  Joan,  kindling  at  the 
thought  of  a  definite  sacrifice.  It  seemed  like  an  atone- 
ment for  her  soul's  sin. 

"  And  what  of  Prince  Conrad  ?  "  said  Theresa  quietly, 

Joan  was  silent  for  a  space,  then  she  answered  with 
her  eyes  on  the  ground  : 

"  Prince  Conrad  shall  rule  this  land  as  is  his  duty  — 
Cardinal,  Archbishop,  Prince ;  there  shall  be  none  to 
deny  him  so  soon  as  the  power  of  the  Muscovite  is 
broken.  He  will  be  in  full  alliance  with  Hohenstein. 
He  will  form  a  blood  bond  with  Plassenburg.  And 
when  he  dies,  all  that  is  his  shall  belong  to  the  children 
of  Duke  Maurice  and  his  wife  Margaret !  " 

Theresa  von  Lynar  stood  a  moment  weighing  Joan's 
words,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  a  question  that  she 
asked. 

"  Where  is  Maurice  to-night  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  commands  the  Kernsbergers  in  the  camp. 
Prince  Conrad  has  made  him  provost-marshal." 

373 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"And  the  Princess  Margaret  ?  " 

"  She  abides  in  the  river  gate  of  the  city,  which  Maurice 
passes  often  upon  his  rounds  !  " 

A  strange  smile  passed  over  the  face  of  Theresa  von 
Lynar. 

"  There  are  many  kinds  of  love,"  she  said  ;  "  but  not 
after  this  fashion  did  I,  that  am  a  Dane,  love  Henry  the 
Lion.  Wherefore  should  a  woman  hamper  a  man  in 
his  wars  ?     Sooner  would  I  have  died  bv  his  hand  !  " 

"  She  loves  him,"  said  Joan,  with  a  new  sympathy. 
"She  is  a  princess  and  wilful.  Moreover,  not  even  a 
woman  can  prophesy  what  love  will  make  another 
woman  do  !  " 

"  Ay  !  "  retorted  Theresa,  "  I  am  with  you  there. 
But  to  help  a  man,  not  to  hinder.  Let  her  strip  herself 
naked  that  he  may  go  forth  clad.  Let  her  fall  on  the 
wayside  stones  that  he  may  march  to  victory.  Let  her 
efface  herself  that  no  breath  may  sully  his  great  name. 
Let  her  die  unknown  —  ay,  make  of  herself  a  living 
death  —  that  he  may  increase  and  fill  the  mouths  of 
men.  That  is  love  —  the  love  of  women  as  I  have 
imagined  it.  But  this  love  that  takes  and  will  not  give, 
that  hampers  and  sends  not  forth  to  conquer,  that  keeps 
a  man  within  call  like  a  dog  straining  upon  a  leash  — 
pah  !  that  is  not  the  love  I  know  !  " 

She  turned  sharply  upon  Joan,  all  her  body  quivering 
with  excitement. 

"  No,  nor  yet  is  it  your  way  of  love,  my  Lady  Joan  !  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  so  tried,  like  A4argaret,"  answered 
Joan,  willing  to  change  her  mood.  "  I  shall  never 
marry  !  " 

"  God  forbid,"  said  Theresa,  looking  at  her,  "  that 
such  a  woman  as  you  should  die  without  living  !  " 


374 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

THE    WOOING    OF    BORIS    AND    JORIAN 

"  TORIAN,"  said  Boris,  adjusting  his  soft  under-jerkin 
J      before  putting  on  his  body  armour,  "  thou  art  the 
greatest  fool  in  the  world  !  " 

"  Hold  hard,  Boris,"  answered  Jorian.  "  Honour  to 
whom  honour  —  Thou  art  greater  by  a  foot  than  I  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  long  man,  "  let  us  not  quarrel  about 
the  breadth  of  a  finger-nail.  At  any  rate,  we  are  the 
greatest  fools  in  the  world." 

"  There  are  others,"  said  Jorian,  jerking  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  women's 
apartments. 

"  None  so  rounded  and  tun-bellied  with  folly  !  "  cried 
Boris,  with  decision.  "  No  two  donkeys  so  thistle-fed 
as  we  —  to  have  the  command  of  five  hundred  good 
horsemen,  and  the  chances  of  as  warm  a  fight  as  ever 
closed  —  " 

"  That  is  just  it,"  cried  Jorian  ;  "  our  Hugo  had  no 
business  to  forbid  us  to  engage  in  the  open  before  he 
should  come." 

" '  Hold  the  citv,'  quoth  he,  shaking  that  great  head 
of  his.  '  I  know  not  the  sort  of  general  this  priest- 
knight  may  be,  and  till  I  know  I  will  not  have  my 
Palace  Guard  flung  like  a  can  of  diity  water  in  the  face 
of  the  Muscovites.  Therefore  counsel  the  Prince  t© 
stand  on  the  defensive  till  I  come.'  " 

375 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"And  rightly  spoke  the  son  of  the  Red  Axe,"  assented 
Boris  ;  "  only  our  good  Hugo  should  have  sent  other 
men  than  you  and  I  to  command  in  such  a  campaign. 
We  never  could  let  well  alone  all  the  days  of  us." 

"  Save  in  the  matter  of  marriage  or  no  marriage  I  " 
smiled  Boris  grimly. 

"  A  plague  on  all  women  !  "  growled  the  httle  fat  man, 
his  rubicund  and  shining  face  lined  with  unaccustomed 
discontent.  "  A  plague  on  all  women,  I  say  !  What 
can  this  Theresa  von  Lynar  want  in  the  Muscovite  camp, 
that  we  must  promise  to  convey  her  safe  through  the  forti- 
fications, and  then  put  her  into  Prince  Wasp's  hands  ?  " 

"  Think  you  that  for  some  hatred  of  our  Joan  — 
you  remember  that  night  at  Isle  Rugen  —  or  some  pur- 
pose of  her  own  (she  loves  not  the  Princess  Margaret 
either),  this  Theresa  would  not  betray  the  city  to  the 
enemy  ? " 

"Tush!"  Jorian  had  lost  his  temper  and  answered 
crossly.  "  In  that  case,  would  she  have  called  us  in  ? 
It  were  easy  enough  to  find  some  traitor  among  these 
Courtlanders,  who,  to  obtain  the  favour  of  Prince  Louis, 
would  help  to  bring  the  Muscovite  in.  But  what,  if 
she  were  thrice  a  traitress,  would  cause  her  to  fix  on  the 
two  men  who  would  not  turn  knave  and  spoil-sport  — 
no,  not  for  a  hundred  vats  of  Rhenish  bottled  by  Noah 
the  second  year  after  the  f'lood  !  " 

"  Well,"    sighed   his   companion,  "  't  is  well   enough 
said,  my  excellent  Jorian,  but  all  this   does  not  advance 
us  an  inch.     We  have  promised,  and  at  eleven  o'  the 
clock  we  must  go.     What  hinders,  though,  that  we  have 
a  bottle  of  Rhenish  now,  even  though  the   vintage  be 
younger  than  you  say.     Perhaps  the  patron  was  more 
respectable  1  " 

•  ••••••, 

376 


The  Wooing  of  Boris  and  Jorian 

Thus  in  the  hall  of  the  men-at-arms  in  the  Castle  of 
Courtland  spoke  the  two  captains  of  Plassenburg.  All 
the  time  they  were  busy  with  their  attiring,  Boris  in 
especial  making  great  play  with  a  tortoiseshell  comb 
among  his  tangled  locks.  Somewhat  more  spruce  was 
the  arraying  of  our  twin  comrades-in-arms  than  we  have 
seen  it.  Perhaps  it  was  the  thought  of  the  dangerous 
escort  duty  upon  which  they  had  promised  to  venture 
forth  that  night ;   perhaps  — 

"  May  we  come  in  ?  "  cried  an  arch  voice  from  the 
doorway.  "  Ah,  we  have  caught  you  !  There  —  we 
knew  it !  So  said  I  to  my  sister  not  an  hour  agone. 
Women  may  be  vain  as  peacocks,  but  for  prinking, 
dandifying  vanity,  commend  me  to  a  pair  of  foreign 
war-captains.  My  lords,  have  you  blacked  your  eye- 
lashes yet,  touched  your  eyebrows,  scented  and  waxed 
those  beautiful  moustaches  ?  Sister,  can  you  look  and 
live  ?  " 

And  to  the  two  soldiers,  standing  stiff  as  at  attention, 
with  their  combs  in  their  hands,  enter  the  sisters  Anna 
and  Martha  Pappenheim,  more  full  of  mischief  than 
ever,  and  entirely  unsubdued  by  the  presence  of  the 
invader   at  their  gates. 

"Russ  or  Turk,  Courtlander  or  Fianconian,  Jew 
proselyte  or  dweller  in  Mesopotamia,  all  is  one  to  us. 
So  be  they  are  men,  we  will  tie  them  about  our  little 
fingers  !  " 

"  Why,"  cried  Martha,  "  whence  this  grand  toilet  ? 
We  knew  not  that  you  had  friends  in  the  city.  And 
yet  they  tell  me  you  have  been  in  Courtland  before. 
Sir  Boris  ?  " 

"  Marthe,"  cried  Anna  Pappenheim,  with  vast  pre- 
tence of  indignation,  "  what  has  gotten  into  you,  girl .? 
Can  you  have  forgotten  that  martial  carriage,  those  limbs 

377 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

incomparably  knit,  that  readiness  of  retort  and  delicate 
sparkle  of  Wendish  wit,  which  set  all  the  table  in  a 
roar,  and  yet  never  bring  the  blush  to  maiden's  cheek  ? 
For  shame,  Marthe  !  " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Jorian  suddenly,  short  and 
sharp,  as   if  a   string  had  been  pulled  somewhere. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  thus  more  sonorously  Boris. 

Anna  Pappenheim  caught  her  skirts  in  her  hand,  and 
spun  round  on  her  heel  on  pretence  of  looking  behind  her. 

"  Sister,  what  was  that  ?  "  she  cried,  looking  beneath 
the  settles  and  up  the  wide  throat  of  the  chimney. 
"  Methought  a  dog  barked." 

"  Or  a  grey  goose  cackled  !  " 

"  Or  a  donkey  sang  !  " 

"  Ladies,"  said  Jorian,  who,  being  vastly  discomposed, 
must  perforce  try  to  speak  with  an  affectation  of  jeing 
at  his  ease,  "  you  are  pleased  to  be  witty." 

"  Heaven  mend  our  wit  or  your  judgment !  " 

"  And  we  are  right  glad  to  be  your  butts.  Yet  have 
we  been  accounted  fellows  of  some  humour  in  our  own 
country  and  among  men  —  " 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  not  stay  there  ? "  inquired 
Manhe  pointedly. 

"  It  was  not  Boris  and  I  who  could  not  stay  without," 
retorted  Jorian,  somewhat  nettled,  nodding  towards  the 
door  of  the  guard-room. 

"  Well  said  !  "  cried  frank  Anna.  «  He  had  you 
there,  Marthe.  Pricked  in  the  white  !  Faith,  Sir  Jorian 
pinked  us  both,  for  indeed  it  was  we  who  intruded  into 
the  gentlemen's  dressing-room.  Our  excuse  is  that  we 
are  tirewomen,  and  would  fain  practise  our  office  when 
and  where  we  can.  Our  Princess  hath  been  wedded, 
and  needs  us  but  once  a  week.  Noble  Wendish  gentle- 
men, will  not  you  engage  us  ?  " 

378 


The  Wooing  of  Boris  and  Jorian 

She  clasped  her  hands,  going  a  step  or  two  nearer 
Boris  as  if  in  appeal. 

"  Do,  kind  sirs,"  she  said,  "  have  pity  on  two  poor 
girls  who  have  no  work  to  do.  Think  —  we  are  orphans 
and  far  from  home  !  " 

The  smiles  on  the  faces  of  the  war-captains  broadened. 
"  Ho  !   ho  !   Good  !  "  burst  out  Boris. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Excellent  !  "  assented  Jorian,  nodding, 
with  his  eyes  on  Martha. 

Anna  Pappenheim  ran  quickly  on  tiptoe  round  to 
Boris's  back  and  peered  between  his  shoulders.  Then 
she  ran  her  eyes  down  to  his  heels. 

"  Sister,"  she  cried,  "  they  do  it.  The  noise  comes 
from  somewhere  about  them.  I  saw  them,  their  jaws 
waggle  distinctly.  They  must  of  a  surety  be  wound  up 
like  an  arbalist.  Yet  I  cannot  find  the  string  and  trigger 
Do  come  and  help  me,  good  Marthe  !  If  you  find  it,  I 
will  dance  at  your  wedding  in  my  stocking-feet !  " 

And  the  gay  Franconian  reached  up  and  pulled  a  tag 
of  Boris's  jerkin,  which  hung  down  his  back.  The 
knot  slipped,  and  a  circlet  of  red  and  gold,  ragged  at  the 
lower  edges,  came  off  in  her  hand,  revealing  the  fact  that 
Boris's  noble  soubreveste  was  no  more  than  a  fringe  of 
broidered  collar. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Jorian  irrepressibly.  For 
Boris  looked  mighty  crestfallen  to  have  his  magnificence 
so  rudely  dealt  with. 

Anna  von  Pappenheim  clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  have  found  it !  "  she  cried.  "  It  goes  like  this.  You 
touch  ofF  the  trigger  of  one,  and  the  other  explodes  !  " 

Boris  wheeled  about  with  fell  intent  on  his  face.  He 
would  have  caught  the  teasing  minx  in  his  arms,  but 
Anna  skipped  round  behind  a  chair  and  threatened  him 


Vv^ith  her  finger. 


379 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Not  till  you  engage  us,"  she  cried.  "  Hands  off, 
there!      We  are  to  array  you  —  not  you  us." 

Then  the  two  gamesome  Southlanders  stood  together 
in  ludicrous  imitation  of  Boris  and  Jorian's  military  stiff- 
ness, folding  their  hands  meekly  and  casting  their  eyes 
downward  like  a  pair  of  most  ingenuous  novices  listen- 
ing to  the  monitions  of  their  Lady  Superior.  Then 
Anna's  voice  was  heard  speaking  with  almost  incredible 
humility. 

"  Will  my  lord  so  great  and  noble  deign  to  express  a 
preference  which  of  us  shall  be  his  handmaid  ?  " 

But  they  had  ventured  an  inch  too  far.  The  string 
was   effectually   pulled  now. 

*'  I  will  have  this  one  —  she  is  so  merry  !  "  cried 
solemn  Boris,  seizing  Anna  Pappenheim  about  the  waist. 

"  And  I  this  !  She  pretendeth  melancholy,  yet  has 
tricks  like  a  monkey  !  "  said  Jorian,  quickly  following 
his  example.  The  girls  fended  them  gallantly,  yet,  as 
tnayhap  they  desired,  their  case  was  hopeless. 

"Hands  off!  I  will  not  be  called  this  one,"  cried 
Anna,  though  she  did  not  struggle  too  vehemently. 

"Nor  I  a  monkey  !  Let  me  go,  great  Wend  !  "  chimed 
Martha,  resigning  herself  as  soon  as  she  had  said  it. 

In  this  prosperous  estate  was  the  courtship  of  Fran 
conia   and    Plassenburg,  when   some   instinct   drew   the 
eyes   of  Jorian   to  the  door  of  the  guard-room,  which 
Anna  had  carefully  left  open  at  her  entrance,  in  order  to 
secure  their  retreat. 

The  Duchess  Joan  stood  there  silent  and  regardant. 

"Boris!"  cried  Jorian  warningly.  Boris  lifted  his 
eyes  from  the  smiling  challenge  upon  Anna's  upturned 
lips,  which,  after  the  manner  of  your  war-captains,  he 
was  stooping  to   kiss. 

Unwillingly  Boris  lifted  his  eyes.     The  next  moment 

3S0 


The  Wooing  of  Boris  and  Jorian 

both  the  late  envoys  of  Plassenburg  were  sakiting  as 
stiffly  as  if  they  had  still  been  men-at-arms,  while  Anna 
and  Martha,  blushing  divinely,  were  busy  with  their 
needlework  in  the  corner,  as  demure  as  cats  caught 
sipping  cream. 

Joan  looked  at  the  four  a  while  without  speaking. 

"  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,"  she  said  sternly,  "  a 
messenger  has  come  from  Prince  Conrad  to  say  that  the 
Muscovites  press  him  hard.  He  asks  for  instant  rein- 
forcements. There  is  not  a  man  fit  for  duty  within  the 
city  save  your  command.  Will  you  take  them  to  the 
Prince's  assistance  immediately  ?  Werner  von  Orseln 
fights  by  his  side.  Maurice  and  my  Kernsbergers  are 
already  on  their  way." 

The  countenances  of  the  two  Plassenburg  captains 
fell  as  the  leathern  screen  drops  across  a  cathedral  door 
through  which  the  evening  sunshine  has  been  streaming. 

"  My  lady,  it  is  heartbreaking,  but  we  cannot,"  said 
Boris  dolefully.  "  Our  Lord  Prince  Hugo  bade  us  keep 
the  city  till  he  should  arrive !  " 

"  But  I  am  Governor.  I  will  keep  the  city,"  cried 
Joan  ;  "  the  women  will  mount  halberd  and  carry  pike. 
Go  to  the  Prince  !  Were  Hugo  of  Plassenburg  here  he 
would  be  the  first  to  march  !  Go,  I  order  you  !  Go,  I 
beseech  you  !  " 

She  said  the  last  words  in  so  changed  a  tone  that  Boris 
looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

But  still  he  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  certain  if  Prince  Hugo  were  here  he  would  be 
the  first  to  ride  to  the  rescue.  But  Prince  Hugo  is  not 
here,  and  my  comrade  and  I  are  soldiers  under  orders  !  " 

"  Cowards  !  "  cried  Joan,  "  I  will  go  myself.  The 
cripples,  the  halt,  and  the  blind  shall  follow  me.  Thora 
of  Bornheim  and  these  maidens  there,  they  shall  follow 

3«i 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

me  to  the  rescue  of  their  Prince.  Do  you,  brave  men  of 
Plassenburg,  cower  behind  the  walls  while  the  Muscovite 
overwhelms  all  and  the  true  Prince  is  slain  !  " 

And  at  this  her  voice  broke  and  she  sobbed  out, 
"  Cowards !  cowards !  cowards  !  God  preserve  me 
from  cowardly   men  !  " 

For  at  such  times  and  in  such  a  cause  no  woman  is 
just.      For  which  high  Heaven  be  thanked  ! 

Boris  looked  at  Jorian.     Jorian  looked  at  Boris. 

"  No,  madam,"  said  Boris  gravely  ;  "  your  servants 
are  no  cowards.  It  is  true  that  we  v/ere  commanded  by 
our  master  to  keep  his  Palace  Guard  within  the  city  walls, 
and  these  must  stay.  But  we  two  are  in  some  sense  still 
Envoys  Extraordinary,  and  not  strictly  of  the  Prince's 
Palace  Guard.  As  Envoys,  therefore,  charged  with  a 
free  commission  in  the  interests  of  peace,  we  can  with- 
out wrongdoing  accompany  you  whither  you  will.  Eh, 
Jorian  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  quoth  Jorian ;  "  we  are  at  her  Highness's 
service  till  ten   o'   the  clock. 

"  And  why  till  ten  ?  "   asked  Joan,  turning  to  go  out. 

"  Oh  !  "  returned  Jorian,  "  there  is  guard-changing 
and  other  matters  to  see  to.  But  there  is  time  for  a 
wealth  of  fighting  before  ten.  Lead  on,  madam.  We 
follow  your  Highness  !  " 


3S2 


CHAPTER   L 

THE    DIN    OF    BATTLE 

IT  was  a  strange,  uncouth  band  that  Joan  had  got 
together  in  a  handful  of  minutes  in  order  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  field  upon  which,  sullenly  retiring  before 
the  vastly  more  numerous  enemy,  Conrad  and  his  little 
army  stood  at  bay.  Raw,  lathy  lads,  wide-hammed  from 
sitting  cross-legged  in  tailors'  workshops;  prentices  too 
wambly  and  knock-kneed  to  be  taken  at  the  first  draft; 
old  men  who  had  long  leaned  against  street  corners  and 
rubbed  the  doorways  of  the  cathedral  smooth  with  their 
backs  ;  a  sprinkling  of  stout  citizens,  reluctant  and  much 
afraid,  but  still  more  afraid  of  the  wrath  of  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand. 

Joan  was  still  scouring  the  lanes  and  intricate  pas- 
sages for  laggards  when  Boris  and  Jorian  entered  the 
little  square  where  this  company  was  assembled,  most  of 
them  embracing  their  arbalists  as  if  they  had  been  sweep- 
ing besoms,  and  the  rest  holding  their  halberds  as  if  they 
feared  they  would  do  themselves  an  injury. 

The  nose  of  fat  Jorian  went  so  high  into  the  air  that, 
without  intending  it,  he  found  himself  looking  up  at 
Boris ;  and  at  that  moment  Boris  chanced  to  be  glanc- 
ing at  Jorian  down  the  side  of  his  high-arched 
beak. 

To  the  herd  of  uncouth  soldiery  it  simply  appeared  as 
though  the  two  war-captains  of  Plassenburg  looked  at 

3^3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

each  other.  An  observer  on  the  opposite  side  would 
have  noted,  however,  that  the  right  eye  of  Jorian  and  the 
left  eye  of  Boris  simultaneously  closed. 

When  they  turned  their  regard  upon  the  last  levy  of 
the  city  of  Courtland   their  faces  were  grave. 

"Whence  come  these  churchyard  scourings,  these 
skulls  and  crossbones  set  up  on  end  ? "  cried  Jorian, 
in  face  of  them  all.  And  this  saying  from  so  stout 
a  man  made  their  legs  wamble  more  than  ever. 

"  Rotboss  rascals,  rogues  in  grain,"  Boris  took  up  the 
tale,  "  faith,  it  makes  a  man  scratch  only  to  look  at 
them!      Did  you   ever  see  their  marrow?" 

The  two  captains  turned  away  in  disgust.  They 
walked  to  and  fro  a  little  apart,  and  Boris,  who  loved 
all  animals,  kicked  a  dog  that  came  his  way.  Boris  wa<i 
unhappy.  He  avoided  Jorian's  eye.  At  last  he  broke 
out : 

"  We  cannot  let  our  Lady  Joan  set  forth  for  field 
with  such  a  following  of  mumpers  and  tun-barrels  as 
these !  "  he  said. 

Boris  confided  this,  as  It  were,  to  the  housetops. 
Jorian  apparently  did  not  listen.  He  was  clicking  his 
dagger  in  its  sheath,  but  from  his  next  word  it  was  evi- 
dent that  his  mind  had  not  been  inactive. 

"  What  excuse  could  we  make  to  Hugo,  our  Prince  ?  " 
he  said  at  last.  "  Scarcely  did  he  believe  us  the  last  time. 
And  on  this  occasion  we  have  his  direct  orders." 

"  Are  we  not  still  Envoys  ?  "  queried  Boris. 

"Extraordinary  !  "  twinkled  Jorian,  catching  his  com- 
rade's idea  as  a  bush  of  heather  catches  moor-burn. 

"  And  as  Envoys  of  a  great  principality  like  Plassen- 
burg  —  representatives  of  the  most  noble  Prince  and 
Princess  in  this  Empire,  should  we  not  ride  with  retinue 
due  and  fitting  ?      That  is  not  taking  the  Palace  Guard 

38A 


The  Din  of  Battle 

Into  battle.  It  is  only  affording  protection  to  their  Ex- 
cellencies' representatives." 

"  That  sounds  well  enough,"  answered  Boris  doubt- 
fully, "  but  will  it  stand  probation,  think  you,  when 
Hugo  scowls  at  us  from  under  his  brows,  and  you  see 
the  bar  of  the  fifteen  Red  Axes  of  the  Wolfmark  stand 
red  on  his  forehead  ?  " 

''  Tut,  man,  his  anger  is  naught  to  that  of  Karl  the 
Miller's  Son.  We  have  stood  that.  Why  should  we 
fear  our  quiet  Hugo  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay ;  in  our  day  we  have  tried  one  thing  and 
then  another  upon  Karl  and  have  borne  up  under  his 
anger.  But  then  Karl  but  cursed  and  used  great  horned 
words,  suchlike  as  in  his  youth  he  had  heard  the  wagon- 
ers use  to  encourage  their  horses  up  the  mill  brae.  But 
Hugo  —  when  he  is  angry  he  says  nought,  only  the  red 
bar  comes  up  slowly,  and  as  it  grows  dark  and  fiery  you 
wish  he  would  order  you  to  the  scaffold  at  once  and  be 
done  with  it !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jorian,  "  at  all  events,  there  is  always 
our  Helene.  I  think,  whatever  we  do,  she  will  not 
forget  old  days  —  the  night  at  the  earth-houses,  belike, 
and  other  things.      I  think  we  may  risk  it  I  " 

"  True,"  meditated  Boris,  "  you  say  well.  There  is 
always  Helene.  The  Little  Playmate  will  not  let  our 
necks  be  stretched  !  Not  at  least  for  succouring  a  Prin- 
cess in  distress." 

"And  a  woman  in  love  ?  "  added  Jorian,  who,  though 
he  followed  the  lead  of  the  long  man  in  great  things,  had 
a  shrewder  eye  for  more  intimate  matters. 

"  Eh,  what 's  that  you  say  ? "  said  Boris,  turning 
quickly  upon  him.  He  had  been  regarding  with  interest 
a  shackle-kneed  varlet  holding  a  halberd  in  his  arms  as  if 
it  had  been  a  fractious  bairn. 

25  385 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

But  Jorian  was  already  addressing  the  company  before 

"  Here,  you  unbaked  potsherds  —  dismiss,  if  ye  know 
what  that  means.  Get  ye  to  the  walls,  and  if  ye  cannot 
Stand  erect,  lean  against  them,  and  hold  brooms  in  your 
hands  that  the  Muscovite  may  take  them  for  muskets  and 
you  for  men  if  he  comes  nigh  enough.  Our  Lady  is  not 
Joan  of  the  Dishclout,  that  such  draught-house  ragpick- 
ers as  you  should  be  pinned  to  her  tail.  Set  bolsters  on 
the  walls  !  Man  the  gates  with  faggots.  Cleave  beech 
billets  half  in  two  and  set  them  athwart  wooden  horses 
for  officers.  But  insult  not  the  sunshine  by  letting  your 
shadows  fall  outside  the  city.  Break  off!  Dismiss  ! 
Go  !  " 

As.  Jorian  stood  before  the  levies  and  vomited  his  in- 
sults upon  them,  a  gleam  of  joy  passed  across  chops 
hithevto  white  like  fish-bellies  with  the  fear  of  death. 
Bleared  eyes  flashed  up  with  relief.  And  there  ran  a 
murmar  through  the  ragged  ranks  which  sounded  like 
"  Thank  you,  great  captain  !  " 

In  a  short  quarter  of  an  hour  the  drums  of  the  Plas- 
senburg  Palace  Guard  had  beaten  to  arms.  From  gate 
to  gate  the  light  sea-wind  had  borne  the  cheerful  trumpet 
call,  and  when  Joan  returned,  heartless  and  downcast, 
with  half  a  dozen  more  mouldy  rascals,  smelling  of 
muck-rakes  and  damp  stable  straw,  she  found  before  her 
more  than  half  the  horsemen  of  Plassenburg  armed  cap- 
a-pie  in  burnished  steel.  Whereat  she  could  only  look 
at  Boris  in  astonishment. 

"  Your  Highness,"  said  that  captain,  saluting  gravely, 
''  we  are  only  able  to  accompany  you  as  Envoys  Extra- 
ordinary of  the  Prince  and  -Princess  of  Plassenburg.  But 
as  such  we  feel  it  our  duty  in  order  properly  to  support 

386 


The  Din  of  Battle 

our  State  to  take  with  us  a  suitable  attendance  !  We 
are  sure  that  neither  Prince  Hugo  nor  yet  his  Princess 
Helene  would  wish  it  otherwise  !  " 

Before  Joan  could  reply  a  messenger  came  spurring 
up  the  long,  narrow  streets  along  which  the  disbanded 
levies,  so  vigorously  contemned  of  Jorian,  were  hurrying 
to  their  places  upon  the  walls  with  a  detail  of  the  Plas- 
senburg  men  behind  them,  driving  them  like  sheep. 

Joan  took  the  letter  and  opened  it  with  a  jerk. 

"  From  High  Captain  von  Orseln  to  the  Princess 
Joan. 

"  Come  with  all  speed,  if  you  would  be  in  time.  We 
are  hard  beset.  The  enemy  are  all  about  us.  Prince 
Conrad   has  ordered   a  charge  !  " 

The  face  of  the  woman  whitened  as  she  read,  but  at 
the  same  moment  the  fingers  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 
tightened  upon  the  hilt.  She  read  the  letter  aloud.. 
There  was  no  comment.  Boris  cried  an  order,  Jorian 
dropped  to  the  rear,  and  the  retinue  of  the  Envoys  Ex- 
traordinary swung  out  on  the  road  towards  the  great 
battle. 

Outnumbered  and  beaten  back  by  the  locust  flock 
which  spread  to  either  side  far  outflanking  and  some- 
times completely  enfolding  his  small  army,  Prince  Con- 
rad yet  maintained  himself  by  good  generalship  and  the 
high  personal  courage  which  stimulated  his  followers. 
The  hardy  Kernsbergers,  both  horse  and  foot,  whom 
Maurice  had  brought  up,  proved  the  backbone  of  the 
defence.  Besides  which,  Werner  von  Orseln  had  striven 
by  rebuke  and  chastening,  as  well  as  appeals  to  their 
honour,  to  impart  some  steadiness  into  the  Courtland 
ranks.  But  save  the  free  knights  from  the  landward 
parts,  who  were  driven  wild  by  the  sight  of  the  ever- 
spreading  Muscovite  desolation,  ther<='  "/as  little   stamin:} 

3^^  7 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

among  the  burghers.  They  were,  indeed,  loud  and 
turbulent  upon  occasion,  but  they  understood  but  ill 
any  concerted  action.  In  this  they  differed  from  their 
fellows  of  the  Hansa  League,  or  even  the  clothweavers 
of  the  Netherland  cities. 

As  Joan  and  the  war-captains  of  Plassenburg  came 
nearer  they  heard  a  low  growling  roar  like  the  distant 
sound  of  the  breakers  on  the  outer  shore  at  Isle  Rugen. 
It  rose  and  fell  as  the  fitful  wind  bore  it  towards  them, 
but  it  never  entirely  ceased. 

They  dashed  through  the  fords  of  the  Alia,  the  three 
hundred  lances  of  the  Plassenburg  Guard  clattering 
eagerly  behind  them.  Joan  led,  on  a  black  horse  which 
Conrad  had  given  her.  The  two  war-captains  with  one 
mind  set  their  steel  caps  more  firmly  on  their  heads,  and 
as  his  steed  breasted  the  river  bank  Jorian  laughed  aloud. 
Angrily  Joan  turned  in  her  saddle  to  see  what  the  little 
man  was  laughing  at.  But  with  quick  instinct  she  per- 
ceived that  he  laughed  only  as  the  war-horse  scents  the 
battle  from  afar.  He  was  once  more  the  born  fightei 
of  men.  Jorian  and  his  mate  would  never  be  generals, 
but  they  were  the  best  tools  any  general  could  have. 

They  came  nearer.  A  few  wreaths  of  smoke,  hang- 
ing over  the  yet  distant  field,  told  where  Russ  and  Teuton 
met  in  battle  array.  A  solemn,  slumberous  reverberation 
heard  at  intervals  split  the  dull  general  roar  apart.  It 
was  the  new  cannon  which  had  come  from  the  Margraf 
George  to  help  beat  back  the  common  foe.  Again  and 
again  broke  in  upon  their  advance  that  appalling  sound, 
which  set  the  inward  parts  of  men  quivering.  Then 
they  began  to  pass  limping  men  hasting  cityward,  with 
fleeing  and  panic-stricken  wretches  who  looked  over 
their  shoulders  as  if  they  saw  steel  flashing  at  their 
backs. 

388 


The  Din  of  Battle 

A  camp-marshal  or  two  was  trying  to  stay  these, 
beating  them  over  the  head  and  shoulders  with  the  flat 
of  their  swords;  but  not  a  man  of  the  Plassenburgers 
even  looked  towards  them.  Their  eyes  were  on  that 
distant  tossing  line  dimly  seen  amid  clouds  of  dust,  and 
those  strange  wreaths  of  white  smoke  going  upward 
from  the  cannon's  mouths.  The  roar  grew  louder; 
there  were  gaps  in  the  fighting  line ;  a  banner  went 
down  amid  great  shouting.  They  could  see  the  glint 
of  sunshine   upon  armour. 

"  Kernsberg  !  "  cried  Joan,  her  sword  high  in  the  air, 
ds  she  set  spurs  in  her  black  stallion  and  swept  onward  a 
good  twenty  yards  before  the  rush  of  the  horsemen  of 
Plassenburg. 

Now  they  began  to  see  the  arching  arrow-hail,  grey 
against  the  skyline  like  gnat  swarms  dancing  in  the  dusk 
of  summer  trees.  The  quarrels  buzzed.  The  great 
catapults,  still  used  by  the  Muscovites,  twanged  like 
breaking  viol  cords. 

The  horses  instinctively  quickened  their  pace  to  take 
the  wounded  in  their  stride.  There  —  there  was  the 
thickest  of  the  fray,  where  the  great  cannon  of  the  Mar- 
graf's  thundered  and  were  instantly  wrapped  in  their 
own  white  pall. 

Joan's  quick  glance  about  her  for  Conrad  told 
her  nothing  of  his  whereabouts.  But  the  two  war- 
captains,  more  experienced,  perceived  that  the  Musco- 
vites were  already  everywhere  victorious.  Their  wings 
outflanked  and  overlapped  the  slender  array  of  Courtland. 
Only  about  the  cannon  and  on  the  far  right  did  any 
seem  to  be  making  a  stand. 

"There!"  cried  Jorian,  couching  his  lance,  "there 
by  the  cannon  is  where  we  will  get  our  bellyful  of 
fighting." 

%8q 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

He  pointed  where,  amid  a  confusion  of  fighting  men, 
wounded  and  struggling  horses,  and  the  great  black 
tubes  of  the  Margraf's  cannon,  they  saw  the  sturdy  form 
of  Werner  von  Orseln,  grown  larger  through  the  smoke 
and  dusty  smother,  bestriding  the  body  of  a  fallen  knight. 
He  fought  as  one  fights  a  swarm  of  angry  bees,  striking 
every  way  with  a  desperate  courage. 

The  charging  squadrons  of  Plassenburg  divided  to 
pass  right  and  left  of  the  cannon.  Joan  first  of  all,  with 
her  sword  lifted  and  crying  not  Kernsberg  now,  but 
*'  Conrad  !  Conrad  !  "  drave  straight  Into  the  heart  of  the 
Cossack  swarm.  At  the  trampling  of  the  horses'  feet 
the  Muscovites  lifted  their  eyes.  They  had  been  too 
intent  to  kill  to  waste  a  thought  on  any  possible  succour. 

Joan  felt  herself  strike  right  and  left.  Her  heart  was 
crazed  within  her  so  that  she  set  spurs  in  her  steed  and 
rode  him  forward,  plunging  and  furious.  Then  a  blow- 
ing wisp  of  white  plume  w^as  swept  aside,  and  through  a 
helmet  (broken  as  a  nut  is  cracked  and  falls  apart)  Joan 
saw  the  fair  head  of  her  Prince.  A  trickle  of  blood 
wetted  a  clinging  curl  on  his  forehead  and  stole  down 
his  pale  cheek.  Werner  von  Orseln,  begrimed  and 
drunken  with  battle,  bestrode  the  body  of  Prince  Conrad. 
His  defiance  rose  above  the  din  of  battle. 

"  Come  on,  cowards  of  the  North !  Taste  good 
German  steel !  To  me,  Kernsberg  !  To  me,  Hohen- 
stein  !  Curs  of  Courtland,  would  ye  desert  your  Prince  ? 
Curses  on  you  all,  swart  hounds  of  the  Baltic !  Let  me 
out  of  this  and  never  a  dog  of  you  shall  ever  bite  bread 


again  ! 


And  so,  foaming  in  his  battle  anger,  the  ancient 
war-captain  would  have  struck  down  his  mistress. 
For  he  saw  all  things  red,  and  his  heart  was  bittej 
within  him. 

390 


The  Din  of  Battle 

With  all  the  power  that  was  in  her,  right  and  left 
Joan  smote  to  clear  her  way  to  him,  praying  that  if  she 
could  not  save  him  she  might  at  least  die  with  him. 

But  by  this  time  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,  leaving 
their  horsemen  to  ride  at  the  second  line,  had  wheeled 
and  now  came  thrusting  their  lances  freely  into  Cossack 
backs.  These  last,  thus  taken  in  the  rear,  turned  and 
fled. 

"  Hey,  Werner,  good  lad,  do  not  slay  your  comrades  I 
Down  blade,  old  Thirsty.  Hast  thou  not  drunken  enough 
blood  this  morning  ? "  So  cried  the  war-captains  as 
Werner  dashed  the  blood  and  tears  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  Back  !  back  !"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  knew  with 
whom  he  had  to  do.  "  Go  back  !  Conrad  is  slain  or 
hath  a  broken  head.  They  were  thrusting  at  him  as  he 
lay  to  kill  him  outright.  Ah,  viper,  would  you  sting  ?  " 
(He  thrust  a  wounded  iMuscovite  through  as  he  was 
crawling  nearer  to  Conrad  with  a  broad  knife  in  his 
hand.)  "  The  beaten  curs  of  Courtland  broke  at  the 
first  attack.  Get  him  to  horse  !  Quick,  I  say.  My 
Lady  Joan  !   what  do  you  in  this  place  ?  " 

For  even  while  he  spoke  Joan  had  dismounted  and 
was  holding  Conrad's  head  on  her  lap.  With  the  soft 
white  kerchief  which  she  wore  on  her  helm  as  a  favour 
she  wiped  the  wound  on  his  head.  It  was  long,  but  did 
not  appear  to  be  veiy  deep. 

As  Werner  stood  astonished,  gazing  at  his  mistress, 
Boris  summoned  the  trumpeter  who  had  wheeled  with  him. 

"  Sound  the  recall  I  "  he  bade  him.  And  in  a  mo- 
ment clear  notes  rang  out. 

"  He  is  not  dead  !  Lift  him  up,  you  two  !  "  Joan 
cried  suddenly.  "  No,  I  will  take  him  on  my  steed. 
It  is  the  strongest,  and  I  the  lightest.  I  alone  will  bear 
him  in." 

391 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

And  before  any  could  speak  she  sprang  into  the  saddle 
without  assistance  with  all  her  old  lightness  of  action, 
most  like  that  of  a  lithe  lad  who  chases  the  colts  in  his 
father's  croft  that  he  may  ride  them  bareback. 

So  Werner  von  Orseln  lifted  the  head  and  Boris  the 
feet,  bearing  him  tenderly  that  they  might  set  him  upon 
Joan's  horse.  And  so  firm  was  her  seat  (for  she  rode 
as  the  Maid  rode  into  Orleans  with  Dunois  on  one  side 
and  Gilles  de  Rais  on  the  other),  that  she  did  not  quiver 
as  she  received  the  weight.  The  noble  black  looked 
round  once,  and  tbm,  as  if  understanding  the  thing  that 
was  required  of  him,  he  gentled  himself  and  began  to 
pace  slow  and  sUtely  towards  the  city.  On  either  side 
walked  tall  Boris  and  sturdy  Werner,  who  steadied  the 
unconscious  Pr'.nce  with  the  palms  of  their  hands. 

Meanwhile  the  Palace  Guard,  with  Jorian  at  its  head, 
defended  the  slow  retreat,  while  on  the  flanks  Maurice 
and  hjs  staunch  Kernsbergers  checked  the  victorious 
advance  of  the  Muscovites.  Yet  the  disaster  was  com- 
plete. They  left  the  dead,  they  left  the  camp,  they  left 
the  rnunitions  of  war.  They  abandoned  the  Margraf 's 
cannon  and  all  his  great  store  of  powder.  And  there 
were  many  that  wept  and  some  that  cursed  as  they  fell 
back,  and  heard  the  wailing  of  the  women  and  saw  the 
fear  whitening  on  the  faces  they  loved. 

Only  the  Kernbergers  bit  their  lips  and  watched  the 
eye  of  Maurice,  by  whose  side  a  slim  page  in  chain- 
mail  had  ridden  all  dav  with  visor  down.  And  the  men 
of  the  Palace  Guard  prayed  for  Prince  Hugo  to  come. 

As  for  Joan,  she  cared  nothing  for  victory  or  defeat, 
loss  or  gain,  because  that  the  man  she  loved  lay  on  her 
breast,  bleeding  and  verv  still. 

Yet  with  great  gentleness  she  gave  him  down  into 
lovirig   hands   and    afterwards    stood    marble-pale    beside 

392 


The  Din  of  Battle 

the  couch  while  Theresa  von  Lynar  unlaced  his  armoui 
and  washed  his  wounds.  Then,  nerving  herself  to  see 
him  suffer,  she  murmured  over  to  herself,  once,  twice, 
and  a  hundred  times,  "  God  help  me  to  do  so  and  more 
also  to  those  who  have  wrought  this  —  specially  to 
Louis  of  Courtland   and   Ivan  of  Muscovy." 

"  Abide  ye,  little  one  —  be  patient.  Vengeance  will 
come  to  both !  "  said  Theresa.  *'  I,  who  do  not 
promise  lightly,  promise  it  you  !  " 

And  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  Never 
before  had  the  Duchess  Joan  been  called  "  little  one  !  " 
Yet  for  all  her  brave  deeds  she  laid  her  head  on  Theresa's 
shoulder,  murmuring,  "  Save  him  —  save  him  !  I  can- 
not bear  to  lose  him.     Pray  for  him  and  me  !  " 

Theresa  kissed  her  brow. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  the  prayers  of  such  as  Theresa  von 
Lynar  would  avail  little.  Yet  she  may  be  a  weapon  in 
the  hand  of  the  God  of  vengeance.  Is  it  not  written 
that  they  that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the 
sword  ?  " 

But  already  Joan  had  forgotten  vengeance.  For  now 
the  surgeons  of  Courtland  stood  about,  and  she  mur- 
mured, "  Must  he  die  ?      Tell  me,  will  he  die  .?  " 

And  as  the  wise  men  silently  shook  their  heads,  the 
crying  of  the  victorious  Muscovites  could  be  heard 
outside  the   wall. 

Then  ensued  a  long  silence,  through  which  brolce  a 
gust  of  iron-throated  laughter.  It  was  the  roar  of  the 
Margraf's  captured  cannon  firing  the  salvo  of  victory. 


393 


CHAPTER   LI 


Theresa's  last  secret 


THAT  night  the  whole  city  of  Courtland  cowered 
in  fear  before  its  triumphant  enemy.  At  the 
nearest  posts  the  Muscovites  were  in  great  strength,  and 
the  sight  of  their  burnings  fretted  the  souls  of  the  citizens 
on  guard.  Some  came  near  enough  to  cry  insults  up 
to  the  defenders. 

"  You  would  not  have  your  own  true  Prince.  Now 
ye  shall  have  ours.  We  will  see  how  you  like  the 
exchange !  " 

This  was  the  cry  of  some  renegade  Courtlander,  or 
of  a  Muscovite  learned  (as  ofttimes  they  are)  in  the 
speech  of  the  West. 

But  within  the  walls  and  at  the  gates  the  men  of 
Kernsberg  and  Hohenstein  rubbed  their  hands  and 
nudged  each  other. 

"  Brisk  lads,"  they  said,  "  let  us  make  our  wills  and 
send  them  by  pigeon  post.  I  am  leaving  Gretchen  my 
Book  of  Prayers,  my  Lives  of  the  Saints,  my  rosary, 
and  my  belt  pounced  with  golden  eye-holes  —  " 

"  Methinks  that  last  will  do  thy  Gretchen  most 
service,"  said  his  companion,  "since  the  others  have 
gone  to  the  vintner's  long  ago  !  " 

"  Thou  art  the  greater  knave  to  say  so,"  retorted  his 
companion  ;  "  and  if  by  God's  grace  we  come  safe  out 
of  this  I  will  break  thy  head  for  thy  roguery  !  " 


'94 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

The  Muscovites  had  dragged  the  captured  cannon  in 
front  of  the  Plassenburg  Gate,  and  now  they  fired 
occasionally,  mostly  great  balls  of  quarried  stone,  but 
afterward,  as  the  day  wore  later,  any  piece  of  metal  or 
rock  they  could  find.  And  the  crash  of  wooden  galler- 
ies and  stone  machicolations  followed,  together  with  the 
scuttling  of  the  Courtland  levies  from  the  posts  of 
danger.  A  few  of  the  younger  citizens,  indeed,  were 
staunch,  but  for  the  most  part  the  Plassenburgers  and 
Kernsbergers  were  left  to  bite  their  lips  and  confide  to 
each  other  what  their  Prince  Hugo  or  their  Joan  of  the 
Sword  Hand  would  have  done  to  brino-  such  cowards  to 

o 

reason  and  right  discipline. 

"  An  it  were  not  for  our  own  borders  and  that  brave 
priest-prince  —  no  shaveling  he,"  they  said,  "  faith,  such 
curs  were  best  left  to  the  Muscovite.  The  plet  and 
the  knout  were  made  for  such  as  they  !  " 

"  Not  so,"  said  he  who  had  maligned  Gretchen  : 
*'the  Courtlanders  are  yea-forsoothing  knaves  enough, 
truly  ;  but  they  are  Germans,  and  need  only  to  know 
they  must,  to  be  brave  enough.  One  or  two  of  our 
Karl's  hostelries,  with  thirteen  lodgings  on  either  side, 
every  guest  upright  and  a-swing  by  the  neck — these 
would  make  of  the  Courtlanders  as  good  soldiers  as 
thyself,  Hans  Finck  !  " 

But  at  that  moment  came  Captain  Boris  by  and 
rebuked  them  sharply  for  the  budness  of  their  speech. 
It  was  approaching  ten  of  the  clock.  Boris  and 
Jorian  had  already  visited  all  the  posts,  and  were 
now  ready  to  make  their  venture  with  Theresa  von 
Lynar. 

"  No  fools  like  old  fools  !  "  grumbled  Jorian  senten- 
tiously,  as  he  buckled  on  his  carlnated  breastplate,  that 
could  shed   aside  bolts,  quarrels,  and   even  bullets   from 

395 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

powder  guns  as  the  prow  of  a  vessel  sheds  the  waves 
to  either  side  in  a  good  northerly  wind. 

"  'T  is  you  should  know,"  retorted  Boris,  "  being 
both  old  and  a  fool." 

"  A  man  is  known  by  the  company  he  keeps !  " 
answered  Jorian,  adjusting  the  lining  of  his  steel  cap, 
which  was  somewhat  in  disarray  after  the  battle  of  the 
morning. 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  his  companion,  "  I  would  that  I  had 
the  choosing  of  the  company  I  am  to  keep  this 
night !  " 

"  And  1 1  "  assented  Jorian,  looking  solemn  for  once 
as  he  thought  of  pretty  Martha  Pappenheim. 

"  Well,  we  do  it  from  a  good  motive,"  said  Boris  j 
"that  is  one  comfort.  And  if  we  lose  our  lives.  Prince 
Conrad  will  order  many  masses  (they  will  need  to  be 
very  many)  for  your  soul's  peace  and  good  quittance 
from  purgatory  !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Jorian,  as  If  he  did  not  see  much 
comfort  in  that,  '*•  I  would  rather  have  a  box  on  the  ear 
from  Martha  Pappenheim  than  all  the  matins  of  all  the 
priests  that  ever  sung  laud  !  " 

"  Canst  have  that  and  welcome  —  if  her  sister  will 
do  as  well!  "  cried  Anna,  as  the  two  men  went  out  Into 
the  long  stone  passage.  And  she  suited  the  deed  to 
the  word. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  hurt  my  hand  against  tloat  hard  helmet. 
It  serves  me  right  for  listening  !  Marthe  I  "  —  she 
looked  about  for  her  sister  before  turning  to  the  soldiers 

"  See,  I  have  hurt  my  hand,"  she  added. 

Then  she  made  the  tears  well  up  in  her  eyes  by  an 
art  of  the  tongue  she  had. 

"  Kiss  it  well,  Marthe  !  "  she  said,  looking  up  at  her 
sister  as  she  came  along  the  passage  swinging  a  lantern 

396 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

as  carelessly  as  if  there  were  not  a  Muscovite  in  the 
world. 

But  Boris  forestalled  the  newcomer  and  caught  the 
small  white  hand  in  the  soft  leathern  grip  of  his  palm, 
where  the  mail  stopped, 

"  /  will  do  that  better  than  any  sister  !  "  he  said. 

"  That,  indeed,  you  cannot  j  for  only  the  kiss  of  love 
can  make  a  hurt  better  !  " 

Anna  glanced  up  at  him  with  wet  eyes,  a  little  maid 
full  of  innocence  and  simplicity.  Most  certainly  she 
was  all  unconscious  of  the  danger  in  which  she  was 
placing  herself. 

"  Well,  then,  I  love  you  !  "  said  Boris,  who  did  his 
wooing  plainly. 

And  did  not  kiss  her  hand. 

Meanwhile,  the  others  had  wandered  to  the  end  of  the 
passage  and  now  stood  at  the  turnpike  staircase,  the 
light  of  Martha  Pappenheim's  lantern  making  a  dim 
haze  of  light  about  them. 

Anna  looked  at  Boris  as  often  as  she  could. 

"  You  really  love  me  ?  "  she  questioned.  *'  No,  you 
cannot ;  you  have  known  me  too  brief  a  time.  Besides, 
this  is  no  time  to  speak  of  love,  with  the  enemy  at  the 
gates  !  " 

"  Tush  !  "  said  Boris,  with  the  roughness  which  Anna 
had  looked  for  in  vain  among  all  the  youth  of  Court- 
land.  "  I  tell  you,  girl,  it  is  the  time.  You  and  I  are 
no  Courtl^.nders,  God  be  thanked  !  In  a  little  while  I 
shall  ride  away  back  to  Plassenburg,  which  is  a  place 
where  men  live.  I  shall  not  go  alone.  You,  little 
Anna,  shall  come,  too  !  " 

"You  are  not  deceiving  me  ?  "  she  murmured,  look- 
ing up  upon  occasion.  "  There  is  none  at  Plassenburg 
whom  you  love  at  all  ?  " 

397 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

*'  I  have  never  loved  any  woman  but  you  ! "  said 
Boris,  settling  his  conscience  by  adding  mentally,  "  though 
I  may  have  thought  I  did  when  I  told  them  so." 

"  Nor  I  any  man !  "  said  Anna,  softly  meditative, 
making,  however,  a  similar  addition. 

Thus  Greek  met  Greek,  and  both  were  very  happy  in 
the  belief  that  their  own  was  the  only  mental  reservation. 

"  But  you  are  going  out  ?  "  pouted  Anna,  after  a 
while.     "  Why  can't  you  stay  in  the  Castle  to-night  ?  " 

"To-night  of  all  nights  it  is  impossible,"  said  Boris. 
"  We  must  make  the  rounds  and  see  that  the  gates  are 
guarded.     The  safety  of  the  city  is  in  our  hands." 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  will  not  run  into  any  danger  !  " 
said  Anna  anxiously.  She  remembered  a  certain  precari- 
ousness  of  tenure  among  some  of  her  previous —  reserva- 
tions. There  was  Fritz  Wiinch,  who  had  laughed  at  the 
red  beard  of  a  Prussian  baron  ;  Wilhelm  of  Bautzen  went 
once  too  often  on  a  foray  with  his  uncle.  Fighting  Max 
of  Castelnau  — 

For  answer  the  staunch  war-captain  kissed  her,  and 
the  girl  clung  to  her  lover,  this  time  in  real  tears. 
Martha's  candle  had  gone  out,  and  the  two  had  perforce 
to  go  down  the  stair  in  the  dark.  They  reached  the 
foot  at  last. 

"  None  of  them  were  like  him,"  she  owned  that 
night  to  her  sister.  "  He  takes  you  up  as  if  he  would 
break  you  in  his  arms.  And  he  could,  too.  It  is  good 
to  feel  !  " 

"  Jorian  also  is  just  like  that  !  "  answered  Martha. 
Which  shows  the  use  Jorian  must  have  made  of  his 
time  at  the  stairhead,  and  why  Martha  Pappenhcim's 
light  went  out. 

*'  He  swears  he  has  never  loved  any  woman  before." 

"Jorian  does  just  the  same." 

398 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

"  I  suppose  we  must  never  tell  them  —  " 

"  Marthe —  if  you  should  dare,  I  will — Besides, 
you  were  just  as  bad  !  " 

"  Anna,  as  if  I  would  dream  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

And  the  innocents  fell  into  each  other's  arms  and 
embraced  after  the  manner  of  women,  each  in  her  own 
heart  thinking  how  much  she  preferred  "  the  way  of  a 
man  with  a  maid  "  —  at  least  that  form  of  it  cultivated 
by  the  stout  war-captains  of  Plassenburg. 

Without,  Boris  and  Jorian  trampled  along  through  a 
furious  gusting  of  Baltic  rain,  which  came  in  driving 
sheets  from  the  north  and  splashed  its  great  drops  equally 
upon  the  red  roofs  of  Courtland,  the  tented  Muscovites 
drinking  victory,  and  upon  the  dead  men  afield.  Worse 
still,  it  fell  on  many  wounded,  and  to  such  even  the 
thrust  of  the  thievish  camp-follower's  tolle-knife  was 
merciful.  Never  could  monks  more  fitly  have  chanted, 
"  Blessed  are  the  dead  !  "  than  concerning  those  who 
lay  stiff  and  unconscious  on  the  field  where  they  had 
fought,  to  whose  ears  the  Alia  sang  in  vain. 

Attired  in  her  cloak  of  blue,  with  the  hood  pulled  low 
over  her  face,  Theresa  von  Lynar  was  waiting  for 
Boris  and  Jorian  at  the  door  of  the  market-hospital. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  fidelitv,"  she  said  quickly.  "  I 
have  great  need  of  you.  I  put  a  great  secret  in  your 
hands.  I  could  not  ask  one  of  the  followers  of  Prince 
Conrad,  nor  yet  a  soldier  of  the  Duchess  Joan,  lest  when 
that  is  done  which  shall  be  done  to-nip-ht  the  Prince  or 
the  Duchess  should  be  held  blameworthv,  having  most  to 
gain  or  lose.  But  you  are  of  Plassenburg  and  will  bear 
me  witness  !  " 

Boris  and  Jorian  silently  signified  their  obedience  and 
readiness  to  serve  her.  Then  she  gave  them  their 
instructions. 

399 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"You  will  conduct  me  past  the  city  guards,  out 
through  the  gates,  and  take  me  towards  the  camp  of  the 
Prince  of  Muscovy.  There  you  will  leave  me,  and  I 
shall  be  met  by  one  who  in  like  manner  will  lead  me 
through  the  enemy's  posts." 

"  And  when  shall  you  return,  my  Lady  Theresa  ? 
We  will  wait  for  you  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  gentlemen.  You  need  not  wait.  I 
^hall  not  return  !  " 

"  Not  return  ?  "  cried  Jorian  and  Boris  together, 
greatly  astonished. 

"  No,"  said  Theresa,  very  slowly  and  quietly,  her  eyes 
set  on  the  darkness.  "  Hear  ye.  Captains  of  Plassen- 
burg.  I  will  give  you  my  mind.  You  are  trusty  men, 
and  can,  as  I  have  proved,  hold  your  own  counsel." 

Boris  and  Jorian  nodded.  There  was  no  difficulty 
about  that. 

"  Good  !  "  they  said  together  as  of  old. 

As  they  grew  older  it  became  more  and  more  easy  to 
be  silent.  Silence  had  always  been  easier  to  them  than 
speech,  and  the  habit  clave  to  them  even  when  they  were 
in  love. 

"  Listen,  then,"  Theresa  went  on.  "  You  know, 
and  I  know,  that  unless  quick  succour  come,  the  city  is 
doomed.  You  are  men  and  soldiers,  and  whether  ye 
make  an  end  amid  the  din  of  battle,  or  escape  for  this 
time,  is  a  matter  wherewith  ye  do  not  trouble  your  minds 
till  the  time  comes.  But  for  me,  be  it  known  to  you 
that  I  am  the  widow  of  Henry  the  Lion  of  Kernsberg. 
My  son  Maurice  is  the  true  heir  to  the  Dukedom.  Yet, 
being  bound  by  an  oath  sworn  to  the  man  who  made  me 
his  wife,  1  have  never  claimed  the  throne  for  him.  But 
now  Joan  his  sister  knows,  and  out  of  her  great  heart 
she  swears  that  she  will  give  up  the   Duchy  to  him.      If, 

400 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

therefore,  the  city  is  taken,  the  Muscovite  will  slay  my 
son,  slay  him  by  their  hellish  tortures,  as  they  have  sworn 
to  do  for  the  despite  he  put  upon  Prince  Ivan.  And  his 
wife,  the  Princess  Margaret,  will  die  of  grief  when  they 
carry  her  to  Moscow  to  make  a  bride  of  a  widow.  Joan 
will  be  a  prisoner,  Conrad  either  dead  or  a  priest,  and 
Kernsberg,  the  heritage  of  Henry  the  Lion,  a  fief  of  the 
Czar.  There  is  no  help  in  any.  Your  Prince  would 
succour,  but  it  takes  time  to  raise  the  country,  and  long 
ere  he  can  cross  the  frontier  the  Russian  will  have 
worked  his  will  in  Courtland.  Now  I  see  a  way  — -  a 
woman's  way.  And  if  I  fall  in  the  doing  of  it,  well  — 
I  but  go  to  meet  him  for  the  sake  of  whose  children  I 
freely  give  my  life.      In  this  bear  me  witness." 

"  Madam,"  said  Boris,  gravely,  "  we  are  but  plain 
soldiers.  We  pretend  not  to  understand  the  great 
matters  of  State  of  which  you  speak.  But  rest  assured 
that  we  will  serve  you  with  our  lives,  bear  true  witness, 
and  in  all  things  obey  your  word  implicitly." 

Without  difficulty  they  passed  through  the  streets  and 
warded  gates.  Werner  von  Orseln,  indeed,  tramping 
the  inner  rounds,  cried  "  Whither  away  ?  "  Then,  see- 
ing the  lady  cloaked  between  them,  he  added,  after  his 
manner,  ''  By  my  faith,  you  Plassenburgers  beat  the 
world.  Hang  me  to  a  gooseberry  bush  if  I  do  not  tell 
Anna  Pappenheim  ere  to-morrow's  sunset.  As  I  know, 
she  will  forgive  inconstancy  only  in  herself!  " 

They  plunged  into  the  darkness  of  the  outer  night. 
As  soon  as  they  were  beyond  the  gates  the  wind  drave 
past  them  hissing  level.  The  black  trees  roared  over- 
head. At  first  in  the  swirl  of  the  storm  the  three 
could  see  nothing  ;  but  gradually  the  watchfires  of  the 
Muscovite  came  out  thick-sown  like  stars  on  the  rising 
grounds  on  both  sides  of  the  Alia.  Boris  strode  on 
26  401 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

ahead,  peering  anxiously  into  the  night,  and  a  little 
behind  Jorian  gave  Theresa  his  hand  over  the  rough  and 
uneven  ground.  A  pair  of  ranging  stragglers,  vultures 
that  accompany  the  advance  of  all  great  armies,  came 
near  and  examined  the  party,  but  retreated  promptly  as 
they  caught  the  glint  of  the  firelight  upon  the  armour  of 
the  war-captains.  Presently  they  began  to  descend  into 
the  valley,  the  iron-shod  feet  of  the  men  clinking  upon 
the  stones.  Theresa  walked  silently,  steeped  In  thought, 
laying  a  hand  on  arm  or  shoulder  as  she  had  occasion. 
Suddenly  tall  Boris  stopped  dead  and  with  a  sweep  of 
his  arm  halted  the  others. 

"  There  !  "   he  whispered,  pointing  upward. 

And  against  the  glow  thrown  from  behind  a  ridge 
they  could  see  a  pair  of  Cossacks  riding  to  and  fro  cease- 
lessly, dark  against  the  ruddy  sky. 

"  Gott,  would  that  I  had  my  arbalist  !  I  could  put 
holes  in  these  knaves  !  "  whispered  Jorian  over  Boris's 
shoulder. 

"  Hush  !  "  muttered  Boris  ;  "  it  is  lucky  for  Martha 
Pappenheim  that  you  left  it  at  home  !  " 

"  Captains  Boris  and  Jorian,"  Theresa  was  speaking 
with  quietness,  raising  her  voice  just  enough  to  make 
herself  heard  over  the  roar  of  the  wind  overhead,  for 
the  nook  in  which  they  presently  found  themselves  was 
sheltered,  '•'  I  bid  you  adieu  —  it  may  be  farewell.  You 
have  done  nobly  and  like  two  valiant  captains  who  were 
fit  to  war  with  Henry  the  Lion.  I  thank  you.  You  will 
bear  me  faithful  witness  in  the  things   of  which  I  have 

o 

spoken  to  you.  Take  this  ring  from  me,  not  in  recom- 
pense, but  in  memory.  It  is  a  bauble  worth  any  lady's 
acceptance.  And  you  this  dagger."  She  took  two  from 
within  her  mantle,  and  gave  one  to  Jorian  "  It  is  good 
steel  and  will  not  fail  you.    The  fellow  of  it  I  will  keep  !  " 

402 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

She  motioned  them  backward  with  her  hant.. 

"  Abide  there  among  bushes  till  you  see  a  man  come 
out  to  meet  me.  Then  depart,  and  till  you  have  good 
reason  keep  the  last  secret  of  Theresa,  wife  of  Henry 
the  Lion  of  Kernsberg  and   Hohenstein  !  " 

Boris  and  Jorian  bowed  themselves  as  low  as  the 
straitness  of  their  armour  would   permit. 

"  We  thank  you,  madam,"  they  said  ;  "  as  you  have 
commanded,  so  will  we  do  !  " 

And  as  they  had  been  bidden  they  withdrew  into  a 
clump  of  willow  and  alder  whose  leaves  clashed  together 
and  snapped  like  whips  in  the  wind. 

"  Yonder  woman  is  braver  than  you  or  I,  Jorian," 
said  Boris,  as  crouching  they  watched  her  climb  the 
ridge.  "•  Which  of  us  would  do  as  much  for  any  on  the 
earth  ?  '' 

"After  ail,  it  is  for  her  son.  If  you  had  children, 
who  can  say —  ?  " 

"  Whether  I  may  have  children  or  no  concerns  you 
not,"  returned  Boris,  who  seemed  unaccountably  ruffled. 
*'  I  only  know  that  I  would  not  throw  away  my  life  for 
a  baker's  dozen  of  them  !  " 

Upon  the  skyline  Theresa  von  Lynar  stood  a  moment 
looking  backward  to  make  sure  that  her  late  escort  was 
hidden.  Then  she  took  a  whistle  from  her  gown  and 
blew  upon  it  shrilly  in  a  lull  of  the  storm.  At  the 
sound  the  war-captains  could  see  the  Cossacks  drop  their 
lances  and  pause  in  their  unwearying  ride.  They 
appeared  to  listen  eagerly,  and  upon  the  whistle  being 
repeated  one  of  them  threw  up  a  hand.  Then  between 
them  and  on  foot  the  watchers  saw  another  man  stand, 
a  dark  shadow  against  the  watchfires.  The  sentinels 
leaned  down  to  speak  with  him,  and  then,  lifting  their 
lances,  they  permitted  him  to  pass  between  them.      He 

403 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

was  a  tall  man,  clad  In  a  long  caftan  which  flapped  about 
his  feet,  a  sheepskin  posteen  or  winter  jacket,  and  a 
round  cap  of  fur,  high-crowned  and  flat-topped,  upon 
his  head. 

He  came  straight  towards  Theresa  as  if  he  expected 
a  visitor. 

The  two  men  in  hiding  saw  him  take  her  hand  as  a 
host  might  that  of  an  honoured  guest,  kiss  it  reverently, 
and  then  lead  her  up  the  little  hill  to  where  the  sentinels 
waited  motionless  on  their  horses.  So  soon  as  the  pair 
had  passed  within  the  lines,  their  figures  and  the  Cossack, 
salute  momentarily  silhouetted  against  the  watchfires,  the 
horsemen  resumed  their  monotonous  ride. 

By  this  time  Jorian's  head  was  above  the  bushes  and 
his  eyes    stood  well-nigh  out  of  his  head. 

''  Down,  fool !  "  growled  Boris,  taking  him  by  the 
legs  and  pulling  him  flat ;  "the  Cossacks  will  see 
you  !  " 

"  Boris,"  gasped  Jorian,  who  had  descended  so  rapidly 
that  the  fall  and  the  weight  of  his  plate  had  driven  the 
wind  out  of  him,  "  I  know  that  fellow.  I  have  seen 
him  before.  It  is  Prince  Wasp's  physician,  Alexis  the 
Deacon.  I  remember  him  in  Courtland  when  first  we 
came  thither  !  " 

"  Well,  and  what  of  that  ?  "  grunted  Boris,  staring  at 
the  little  detached  tongues  of  willow-leaf  flame  which 
were  blown  upward   from   the   Muscovite   watchfires. 

"  What  of  that,  man  ?  "  retorted  Boris.  "  Why,  only 
this.  We  have  been  duped.  She  was  a  traitress,  after 
all.     This  has  been  planned  a  long  while." 

"  Traitress  or  saint,  it  is  none  of  our  business,"  said 
Boris  grimly.  "We  had  better  get  ourselves  within  the 
walls  of  Courtland,  and  say  nothing  to  any  of  this 
night's  work !  " 

404 


Theresa's  Last  Secret 

*'  At  any  rate,"  added  the  long  man  as  an  afterthoughtj 
■*'  I  have  the  ring.     It  will  be  a  rare  gift  for  Anna." 

Jorian  looked  ruefully  at  his  dagger,  holding  it  be- 
tween the  rustling  alder  leaves,  so  as  to  catch  the  light 
from  the  watchfires.  The  red  glow  fell  on  a  jewel  in 
the  hilt. 

"  'T  is  a  pretty  toy  enough,  but  how  can  I  give  that 
to  Marthe  ?     It  is  not  a  fit  keepsake  for  a  lady  !  " 

"Well,"  said  Boris,  suddenly  appeased,  "I  will  barter 
you  for  it.  I  am  not  so  sure  that  my  pretty  spitfire 
would  not  rather  have  it  than  any  ring  I  could  give  her. 
Shall  we  exchange  ?  " 

"  But  we  promised  to  keep  them  as  souvenirs  ?  "  urged 
Jorian,  whose  conscience  smote  him  slightly.  "  One 
<loes  not  tell  lies  to  a  lady  —  at  least  where  one  can  help 


it." 


It  depends  upon  the  lady  !  "  said  Boris,  practically. 
*'  You  can  tell  your  Marthe  the  truth.  I  will  please 
myself  with  Anna.      Hand  over  the  dagger." 

So  wholly  devoid  of  sentiment  are  war-captains  when 
they  deal  with  keepsakes. 


405 


CHAPTER   LII 

THE    MARGRAF's    POWDER    CHESTS 

TT  was  indeed  Alexis  the  Deacon  who  met  the  Lady 
■^  Theresa.  And  the  matter  had  been  arranged,  just 
as  Boris  had  said.  Alexis  the  Deacon,  a  wise  man  of 
many  disguises,  remained  in  Courtland  after  the  abrupt 
departure  of  Prince  Ivan.  Theresa  had  found  him  in 
the  hospital,  where,  sheltered  by  a  curtain,  she  had  heard 
him  talk  with  a  dying  man  —  the  son  of  a  Greek  mer- 
chant domiciled  in  Courtland,  whose  talent  for  languages 
and  quick  intelligence  had  induced  Prince  Conrad  to 
place  him  on  his  immediate  staff  of  officers. 

"  I  bid  you  reveal  to  me  the  plans  and  intents  of  the 
Prince,"  Theresa  heard  Alexis  say,  "  otherwise  I  cannot 
give   you   absolution.      I    am  priest    as  well  as  doctor." 

At  this  the  young  Greek  had  groaned  and  turned 
aside  his  head,  for  he  loved  the  Prince.  Nevertheless, 
he  spoke  into  the  ear  of  the  physician  all  he  knew,  and 
as  reward  received  a  sleeping  draught,  which  irduced 
the  sleep   from   which   none  waken. 

And  afterwards  Theresa  had  spoken  also. 

So  it  was  this  same  Alexis  —  spy,  priest,  surgeoji, 
assassin,  and  chief  confidant  of  Ivan  Prince  of  Muscovy 
—  who,  in  front  of  the  watchfires,  bent  over  the  hand  of 
Theresa  von  Lynar  on  that  stormy  night  which  suc- 
ceeded the  crowning  victory  of  the  Russian  forces  in 
Courtland. 

406 


The  MargraPs  Powder  Chests 

"This  way,  maclam.  Fear  not.  The  Prince  is 
eagerly  awaiting  you  —  both  Princes,  indeed,"  Alexis 
said,  as  he  led  her  into  the  camp  through  lines  of  lighted 
tents  and  curious  eyes  looking  at  them  from  the  dark- 
ness. "  Only  tell  them  all  that  you  have  to  tell,  and. 
trust  me,  there  shall  be  no  bounds  to  the  gratitude  of  the 
Prince,  or  of  Alexis  the    Deacon,  his   humble  servant." 

Theresa  thought  of  what  this  boundless  gratitude  had 
obtained  for  the  young  Greek,  and  smiled.  They  came 
to  an  open  space  before  a  lighted  pavilion.  Before  the 
door  stood  a  pair  of  officers  trying  in  vain  to  shield  their 
gay  attire  under  scanty  cloaks  from  the  hurtling  inclem- 
ency of  the  night.  Their  ready  swords,  however,  barred 
the  way. 

"To  see  the  Prince  —  his  Highness  expects  us," 
said  Alexis,  without  any  salute.  And  without  further 
objection  the  two  officers  stood  aside,  staring  eagerly 
and  curiously  under  the  hood  of  the  lady's  cloak  whom 
Alexis  brought  so  late  to  the  tent  of  their  master. 

"  Ha  !  "  muttered  one  of  them  confidentially  as  the 
pair  passed  within,  "  I  often  wondered  what  kept  our 
Ivan  so  long  in  Courtland.  It  was  more  than  his 
wooing  of  the  Princess  Margaret,  I  will  wager !  " 

"  Curse  the  wet  !  "  growled  his  fellow,  turning  away. 
He  felt  that  it  was  no  time  for  speculative  scandal. 

Theresa  and  her  conductor  stood  within  the  tent  of  the 
commander  of  the  Muscovite  army.  The  glow  of  lio-ht, 
though  it  cam.e  only  from  candles  set  within  lanterns  of 
horn,  was  great  enough  to  be  dazzling  to  her  eyes.  She 
found  herself  in  the  immediate  presence  of  Prince  Ivan, 
who  rose  with  his  usual  lithe  grace  to  o-reet  her.  An 
older  man,  with  a  grey,  pinched  face,  sat  listlessly  with 
his  elbow  on  the  small  camp  table.  He  leaned  his 
forehead  on  his  palm  and  looked  down.      Behind,  in  the 

407 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

half  dark  of  the  tent,  a  low,  wide  divan  with  cushions 
was  revealed,  and  all  the  upper  end  of  the  tent  was 
filled  up  with  a  huge  and  shadowy  pile  of  kegs  and 
boxes,  only  half  concealed  behind  a  curtain. 

"  I  bid  you  welcome,  my  lady,"  said  Prince  Ivan, 
'■aking  her  hand.  "  Surely  never  did  ally  come  wel- 
comer  than  you  to  our  camp  to-night.  My  sei-vant 
Alexis  has  told  me  of  your  goodwill  —  both  towards 
ourselves  and  to  Prince  Louis."  (He  Indicated  the 
sittino;  fio-ure  with  a  little  movement  of  his  hand  suffi- 
ciently  contemptuous.)  "  Let  us  hear  your  news,  and 
then  will  we  find  you  such  lodging  and  welcome  as  may 
be  in  among  rough  soldiers  and  in  a  camp  of  war." 

As  he  was  speaking  Theresa  von  Lynar  loosened  her 
long  cloak  of  rough  blue,  its  straight  folds  dank  and 
heavy  with  the  rains.  The  eyes  of  the  Prince  of  Mus- 
covy grew  wider.  Hitherto  this  woman  had  been  to 
him  but  a  common  traitress,  possessed  of  great  secrets, 
doubtless  to  be  flattered  a  little,  and  then  —  afterwards 
—  thrown  aside.  Now  he  stood  gazing  at  her,  his 
hands  resting  easily  on  the  table,  his  body  a  little  bent. 
As  she  revealed  herself  to  him  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
dilated  and  amber  gleams  seemed  to  shoot  across  the 
irises.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a 
woman.  As  he  stood  there,  sharpening  his  features  and 
moistening  his  lips.  Prince  Ivan  looked  exceedingly  like 
a  beast  of  prey  looking  out  of  his  hole  upon  a  prey  which 
comes  of  its  own  accord  within  reach  of  his  claws. 

But  in  a  moment  he  had  recovered  himself,  and  came 
forward  with  renewed  reverence. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  bowing  low,  "  will  you  be 
pleased  to  sit  down  ?     You  are  wet  and  tired." 

He  went  to  the  front  of  the  pavilion  and  pushed  aside 
the  dripping  flap. 

408 


The  Margrafs  Powder  Chests 

«  Alexis  !  "  he  cried,  "  call  up  my  people.  Bid  them 
bring  a  brazier,  and  tell  these  lazy  fellows  to  serve  sup- 
per in  half  an  hour  on  peril  of  their  heads  !  " 

He  returned  and  stood  before  Theresa,  who  had  sunk 
back  as  if  fatigued  on  an  ottoman  covered  with  thick 
furs.  Her  feet  nestled  in  the  bearskins  which  covered 
the  floor.     The  Prince  looked  anxiously  down. 

*'  Pardon  me,  your  shoes  are  wet,"  he  said.  "  We 
are  but  Muscovite  boors,  but  we  know  how  to  make 
ladies  comfortable.      Permit  me  !  " 

And  before  Theresa  could  murmur  the  Prince  had 
knelt  down  and  was  unloosing  the  latchets  of  her  shoes. 

"  A  moment  !  "  he  said,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
the  lithe  alertness  which  distinguished  him.  Prince  Ivan 
ran  to  a  corner  where  with  the  brusque  hand  of  a  master 
he  tossed  a  score  of  priceless  furs  to  the  ground.  He 
rose  again  and  came  towards  Theresa  with  a  flash  of 
something  scarlet  in  his  hand. 

"  You  will  pardon  us,  madam,"  he  said, "  you  are  our 
guest  —  the  sole  lady  in  our  camp.  I  lay  it  upon  your 
good  nature  to  forgive  our  rude  makeshifts." 

And  again  Prince  Ivan  knelt.  He  encased  Theresa's 
feet  in  dainty  Oriental  slippers,  small  as  her  own,  and- 
placed  them  delicately  and  respectfully  on  the  couch. 

"  There,  that  is  better  !  "  he  said,  standing  over  her 
tenderly. 

"  I  thank  you.  Prince."  She  answered  the  action 
more  than  the  last  words,  smiling  upon  him  with  her 
large  graciousness  j  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  so  great 
favour," 

"  My  lady,"  said  the  Prince,  "  it  is  a  proverb  of  our 
house  that  though  one  day  Muscovy  shall  rule  the 
world,  a  woman  shall  always  rule  Muscovy.  I  am  as. 
my  fathers  were  I  " 

409 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Theresa  did  not  answer.  She  only  smiled  at  the 
Prince,  leaning  a  little  further  back  and  resting  her  head 
upon  the  palm  of  her  hand.  The  servitors  brought  in 
more  lamps,  which  they  swung  along  the  ridge-pole  of 
the  roof,  and  these  shedding  down  a  mellow  light' 
enhanced  the  ripe  splendour  of  Theresa's  beauty. 

Prince  Ivan  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had 
spoken  the  truth  when  he  said  that  he  had  never  seen  a 
woman  so  beautiful.  Margaret  ?  —  ah,  Margaret  was 
well  enough ;  Margaret  was  a  princess,  a  political  neces- 
sity, but  this  woman  was  of  a  nobler  fashion,  after  a 
mode  more  truly  Russ.  And  the  Prince  of  Muscovy, 
who  loved  his  fruit  with  the  least  touch  of  over-ripeness, 
would  not  admit  to  himself  that  this  woman  was  one 
hour  past  the  prime  of  her  glorious  beauty.  And  indeed 
ihere  was  much  to  be  said  for  this  judgment. 

Theresa's  splendid  head  was  set  against  the  dusky 
skins.  Her  rich  hair  of  Venice  gold,  escaping  a  little 
from  the  massy  carefulness  of  its  ordered  coils,  had  been 
blown  into  wet  curls  that  clung  to  her  white  neck  and 
tendrilled  about  her  broad,  low  brow.  The  warmth  of 
the  tent  and  the  soft  luxury  of  the  rich  rugs  had  brought 
a  flush  of  red  to  a  cheek  which  yet  tingled  with  the  vol- 
leying of  the  Baltic  raindrops. 

"  Alexis  never  told  me  this  woman  was  so  beautiful," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Who  is  she  ?  She  cannot  be  of 
Courtland.  Such  a  marvel  could  not  have  been  hidden 
from  me  during  all  my  stay  there  !  " 

So  he  addressed  himself  to  making  the  discovery. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  are  our  guest.  Will  you 
deign  to  tell  us  how  more  formallv  we  may  address  you. 
You  are  no  Courtlander,  as  all  may  see  !  " 

"  I  am  a  Dane,"  she  answered,  smiling  ;  "  I  am  called 
the  Lady  Theresa.     For  the  present  let  that  suffice.     I 

410 


The  Margraf's  Powder  Chests 

am  venturing  much  to  come  to  you  thus  !  My  father 
and  brothers  built  a  castle  upon  the  Baltic  shore  on 
land  that  has  been  the  inheritance  of  my  mother.  Then 
came  the  reivers  of  Kernsberg  and  burned  the  castle  to 
the  ground.  They  burned  it  with  fire  from  cellar  to 
roof-tree.  And  they  slackened  the  fire  with  the  blood 
of  my  nearest  kindred  !  " 

As  she  spoke  Theresa's  eyes  glittered  and  altered. 
The  Prince  read  easily  the  meaning  of  that  excitement. 
How  was  he  to  know  all  that  lay  behind  ? 

"And  so,"  he  said,  "you  have  no  goodwill  to  the 
Princess  Joan  of  Hohenstein  —  and  Courtland.  Or  to 
any  of  her  favourers  ?  "   he  added  after  a  pause. 

At  the  name  the  grey-headed  man  who  had  been 
sitting  unmoved  by  the  table  with  his  elbow  on  the 
Doard,  raised  a  strangely  wizened  face  to  Theresa's. 

"What"  —  he  said,  in  broken  accents,  stammering^ 
in  his  speech  and  grappling  with  the  words  as  if,  like  a 
wrestler  at  a  fair,  he  must  throw  each  one  severally  — 
"  what  —  who  has  a  word  to  say  against  the  Lady  Joan, 
Princess  of  Courtland  ?  Who  wrongs  her  has  me  to 
reckon  with  —  ay,  were  it  my  brother  Ivan  himself!  " 

"  Not  I,  certainly,  my  good  Louis,"  answered  Ivan 
easily.  "I  would  not  wrong  the  lady  by  word  or  deed 
for  all  Germany  from  Bor-Russia  to  the  Rhine-fall !  " 

He  turned  to  Alexis  the  Deacon,  who  was  at  his 
elbow. 

"  Fill  up  his  cup  —  remember  what  I  bade  you  !  "  he 
said  sharply  in  an  undertone. 

"  His  cup  is  full,  he  will  drink  no  more.  He  pushes 
it  from  him  !  "  answered  Alexis  in  the  same  half- 
whisper.  But  neither,  as  it  seemed,  took  any  particular 
pains  to  prevent  their  words  carrying  to  the  ear  of  Prince 
Louis.      And»  indeed,  they  had  rightly  enough  judged* 

4.1  t 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

For  the  momentaiy  flash  of  maHhood  died  out  on  the 
meagre  face.  The  arm  upon  which  he  had  leaned 
swerved  limiply  aside,  and  the  grey  beard  fell  helplessly 
forward  upon  the  table. 

"So  much  domestic  affection  is  somewhat  belated." 

Prince  Ivan  regarded  Louis  of  Courtland  with  disgust. 
■**  Look  at  him  !  Who  can  wonder  at  the  lady's  taste  ? 
He  is  a  pretty  Prince  of  a  great  province.  But  if  he 
live  he  will  do  well  enough  to  fill  a  chair  and  hold  a 
golden  rod.      Take  him  away,  Alexis  !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Theresa,  with  quick  alarm,  "  let  him 
5tay.  There  are  many  things  to  speak  of.  We  may 
need  to  consult  Prince  Louis  later." 

"I  fear  the  Prince  will  not  be  of  great  use  to  us," 
smiled  Prince  Ivan.  "  If  only  I  had  known,  I  would 
have  conserved  his  princely  senses  more  carefully.  But 
the  light  wine  of  our  country  is  dangerously  strong." 

He  glanced  about  the  pavilion.  The  servants  had 
not  yet  retired. 

"  Convey  his  Highness  to  the  rear,  and  lay  him  upon 
the  powder  barrels  !  "  He  indicated  with  his  hand  the 
array  of  boxes  and  kegs  piled  in  the  dusk  of  the  tent. 
The  servitors  did  as  they  were  told  ;  they  lifted  Prince 
Louis  and  would  have  carried  him  to  that  grim  couch, 
but,  struck  with  some  peculiarity,  Alexis  the  Deacon 
suddenly  bent  over  his  lax  body  and  thrust  his  hand  into 
the  bosom  of  his  princely  habit,  now  tarnished  thick 
with  wine  stains  and  spilled  meats. 

"Excellency,"  he  said,  tnrning  to  his  master,  "the 
Prince  is  dead  !  His  heart  does  not  beat.  It  is  the 
•stroke  !  I  warned  you  it  would  come  !  " 

Prince  Ivan  strode  hastily  towards  the  body  of  Louis 
©f  Courtland. 

**  Surely  not  ?  "    he  cried,  in  seeming  astonishment 

412 


The  Maro-raPs  Powder  Chests 

o 

"This  may  prove  very  inconvenient.  Yet,  after  all, 
what  does  it  matter  ?  With  your  assistance,  madam, 
the  city  is  ours.  And  then  what  matters  dead  prince  or 
living  prince  ?  A  garrison  in  every  fort,  a  squadron  of 
good  Cossacks  pricking  across  every  plain,  a  tax-collector 
in  every  village  —  these  are  the  best  securities  of  prince- 
dom. But  this  is  like  our  good  Louis.  He  never  did 
anything  at  a  right  time  all  his  life." 

Theresa  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  dead  man  as 
the  servitors  lowered  him  for  the  inspection  of  their 
lord.  The  weary,  wrinkled  face  had  been  smoothed  as 
with  the  passage  of  a  hand.  Only  the  left  corner  of 
the  mouth  was  drawn  slightly  down,  but  not  so  much  as 
to  be  disfiguring. 

"  I  am  glad  he  spoke  of  his  wife  at  the  last,"  she 
murmured.  And  she  added  to  herself,  "  This  falls  out 
well  —  it  relieves  me  of  a  necessity." 

"  Spoken  like  a  woman  !  "  cried  Prince  Ivan,  looking 
admiringly  at  her.  "  Pray  forgive  my  bitter  speech, 
and  remember  that  I  have  borne  lono-  with  this  man  '  " 

He  turned  to  the  servitors  and  directed  them  with  a 
motion  of  his  hand  towards  the  back  of  the  pavilion. 

"  Drop  the  curtain,"  he  said. 

And  as  the  silken  folds  dropped  heavily  down  the 
curtain  fell  upon  the  career  and  regality  of  Louis,  Prince 
of  Courtland,  hereditary  Defender  of  the  Holy  See. 

The  men  did  not  bear  him  far.  They  placed  him 
upon  the  boxes  of  powder  for  the  Margraf's  cannon, 
which  for  safety  and  dryness  Ivan  had  bade  them  bring 
to  his  pavilion.  The  dead  man  lay  in  the  dark,  open- 
eyed,  as  if  staring  at  the  circling  shadows  as  the  servitors 
moved  athwart  about  the  supper  table,  at  which  a 
woman  sat  eating  and  drinking  with  her  enemy. 


4^3 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Theresa  von  Lynar  sat  directly  opposite  the  Prince  of 
Muscovy.  The  board  sparkled  with  mellow  lights 
reflected  from  the  lanterns.  The  servitors  had  departed. 
Only  the  measured  tread  of  the  sentinels  was  heard 
without.     They  were  alone. 

And  then  Theresa  had  spoken.  Very  fully  she  had 
told  what  she  had  learned  of  the  defences  of  the  place, 
which  gates  were  guarded  by  the  Kernsbergers,  which 
by  the  men  of  Plassenburg,  which  by  the  remnants  of 
the  broken  army  of  Courtland.  She  spoke  in  a  hushed 
voice,  the  Prince  sipping  and  nodding  as  he  looked  into 
her  eyes.  She  gave  the  passwords  of  the  inner  and 
outer  defences,  the  numbers  of  the  defenders  at  each 
gate,  the  plans  for  bringing  provisions  up  the  Alia  —  in- 
deed, everything  that  a  besieging  general  needs  to  know. 

And  so  soon  as  she  had  told  the  passwords  the  Prince 
asked  her  to  pardon  him  a  moment.  He  struck  a  silver 
bell  and  with  scarce  a  moment's  delay  Alexis  entered. 

"  Go,"  said  the  Prince  -,  "  send  one  of  our  fellows 
familiar  with  the  speech  of  Courtland  into  the  city  by 
the  Plassenburg  Gate.  The  passwords  are  '  Henry  the 
Lion '  at  the  outer  gate  and  '  Remember '  at  the  inner 
port.  Let  the  man  be  dressed  in  the  habit  of  a  country- 
man, and  carry  with  him  some  wine  and  provend. 
Follow  him  and  report  immediately." 

While  the  Prince  was  speaking  he  had  never  taken 
his  eyes  off  Theresa  von  Lynar,  though  he  had  appeared 
.o  be  regarding  Alexis  the  Deacon.  Theresa  did  not 
blanch.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  quivered.  And 
within  his  Muscovite  heart,  full  of  treachery  as  an  egg 
of  meat.  Prince  Ivan  said,  "  She  is  no  traitress,  this 
dame;  but  a  simpleton  with  all  her  beauty.  The 
woman  is  speaking  the  truth." 

And  Theresa  was  speaking  the  truth.      She  had  ex- 

414 


The  Margraf's  Powder  Chests 

pected  some  such  test  and  was  prepared ;  but  she  only 
told  the  defenders'  plans  to  one  man ;  and  as  for  the 
passwords,  she  had  arranged  with  Boris  that  at  the 
earliest  dawn  the  passwords  were  to  be  changed  and 
the    forces   redistributed. 

While  these  two  waited  for  the  return  of  Alexis,  the 
'^rince  encouraged  Theresa  to  speak  of  her  wrongs.  He 
yatched  with  approbation  the  sparkle  of  her  eye  as  she 
spoke  of  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand.  He  noted  how  she 
shut  down  her  lips  when  Henry  the  Lion  was  mentioned, 
how  her  voice  shook  as  she  recounted  the  cruel  end  of 
her  kin. 

Though  at  ordinary  times  most  sober,  the  Prince  now 
added  cup  to  cup,  and  like  a  Muscovite  he  grew  more 
bitter  as  the  wine  mounted  to  his  head.  He  leaned 
forward  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  companion's  white 
wrist.  Theresa  quivered  a  little,  but  did  not  take  i 
away.     The   Prince   was   becoming  confidential. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  leaning  towards  her,  "you  have  suf-» 
fered  great  wrongs,  and  do  well  to  hate  them  with  the 
hate  that  craves  vengeance.  But  you  shall  be  satisfied. 
To-morrow  and  to-morrow's  to-morrow  you  and  I  shall 
have  our  heart's  desire  upon  our  enemies.  Yes,  for 
many  days.  Sweet  —  sweet  it  shall  be  —  sweet,  and 
very  slow ;   for  I,  too,  have  wrongs,  as  you  shall  hear." 

"  Truly,  I  did  well  to  come  to  you  ! "  said  Theresa, 
giving  her  hand  willingly  into  his.  He  clasped  her 
fingers  and  would  have  kissed  them  but  for  the  table 
between. 

"  You  speak  truth."  He  hissed  the  words  bitterly. 
"  Indeed,  you  did  better  than  well.  I  also  have  wrongs, 
and  Ivan  of  Muscovy  will  show  you  a  Muscovite 
vengeance. 

"  This  Prince   Conrad   of  theirs  baulked   me   of  my 

415 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

revenge  and  drove  me  from  the  city.  Him  will  I  take 
and  burn  at  the  stake  in  his  priest's  robes,  as  if  he  were 
saying  mass  —  or,  better  still,  in  the  red  of  the  cardinal's 
habit  with  his  hat  upon  his  head.  And  ere  he  dies  he 
shall  see  his  paramour  carried  to  her  funeral.  For  I 
will  give  you  the  life  of  the  woman  for  whose  sake  he 
thwarted  Ivan  of  Muscovy.  If  you  will  it,  no  hand 
but  yours  shall  have  the  shedding  of  the  blood  of  your 
house's  enemy,  Henry  of  Kernsberg.  Is  not  this  your 
vengeance  already  sweet  in  prospect  ?  " 

"  It  is  sweet  indeed  !  "  answered  Theresa. 

"  Your  Highness  !  "  said  the  voice  of  Alexis  at  the 
tent  door,  "  am  I  permitted  to  speak  ?  " 

"  Speak  on  !  "  cried  Ivan,  without  relaxing  his  clasp 
upon  the  hand  of  Theresa  von  Lynar.  Indeed,  momen- 
--tarily  it  became  a  grip. 

"  The  man  went  safely  through  at  the  Plassenburg 
Gate.  The  passwords  were  correct.  The  man  who 
challenged  spoke  with  a  Kernsberg  accent !  " 

The  Prince's  grasp  relaxed. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said.  "Now  go  to  the  captains  and 
tell  them  to  be  in  their  posts  about  the  city  according  to 
the  plan  —  the  main  assault  to  be  delivered  by  the  gate 
of  the  sea.  At  dawn  I  will  be  with  you  !  Go  !  Above 
all,  do  not  forget  the  passwords  —  first  '  Henry  the 
Lion  !  '  then   '  Remember  !  '  " 

Alexis  the  Deacon  saluted  and  went. 

The  Prince  rose  and  came  about  the  table  nearer  to 
Theresa  von  Lynar.  She  drew  her  breath  quickly  and 
checked  it  as  sharply  with  a  kind  of  sob.  Her  left  hand 
went  to  her  side  as  naturallv  as  a  nun's  to  her  rosarv. 
But  it  was  no  rosary  her  fingers  touched.  The  action 
steadied  her,  and  she  threw  back  her  head  and  smiled  up 
at  him  debonairly  as  though  she  had  no  care  in  the  world. 

416 


The  Margraf's  Powder  Chests 

Theresa  repeated  the  passwords  slowly  and  audibly  : 

'"  Henry  the  Lion  !  '  '  Remember  /  '  Ah  !  "  (she 
broke  off  with  a  laugh)  "  I  am  not  likely  to  forget." 
Ivan  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  glad  to  see  her  so 
resolute. 

"  All  in  good  time,"  he  said,  sitting  down  on  a  stool 
at  her  feet  and  taking  her  hand  —  her  right  hand.  The 
other  he  did  not  see.      Then  he  spoke  confidentially. 

"  One  other  revenge  I  have  which  I  shall  keep  to  the 
last.  It  shall  be  as  sweet  to  me  as  yours  to  you.  I 
shall  draw  it  out  lingeringly  that  I  may  drain  all  its 
sweetness.  It  is. the  upstart  springald  whom  the  Prin- 
cess Margaret  had  the  bad  taste  to  prefer  to  me.  Not 
that  I  cared  a  jot  for  the  Princess.  My  taste  is  far 
other  "  (here  he  looked  up  tenderly)  ;  "  but  the  Princess 
I  must  wed,  as  maid  or  widow  I  care  not.  I  take  her 
provinces,  not  herself;  and  these  must  be  mine  by  right 
of  fief  and  succession  as  well  as  by  right  of  conquest. 
The  way  is  clear.  That  piece  of  carrion  v/hich  men 
called  by  a  prince's  name  was  carried  out  a  while  ago. 
Conrad  the  priest,  who  is  a  man,  shall  die  like  a  man. 
And  I,  Ivan,  and  Holy  Russia  shall  enter  in.  By  the 
right  of  Margaret,  sole  heir  of  Courtland,  city  and  prov- 
ince shall  be  mine  ;  Kernsberg  shall  be  mine ;  Hohen- 
stein  shall  be  mine.  Then  mayhap  I  will  try  a  fall  for 
Plassenburg  and  the  Mark  with  the  Executioner's  Son 
and  his  little  housewife.  But  sweeter  than  all  shall  be 
my  revenge  upon  the  man  I  hate  —  upon  him  who  took 
his  betrothed  wife  from  Ivan  of  Muscovy." 

"  Ah,"  said  Theresa  von  Lynar,  "  it  will  indeed  be 
sweet !  And  what  shall  be  your  worthy  and  terrible 
revenge  ?  " 

"  I   have  thought  of  it  long  —  I  have  turned  it  over, 
this   and   that   I   have   thought  of — the  smearing  with 
27  417 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

honey  and  the  anthill,  of  trepanning  and  the  worms  on 
the  brain  —  but  I  have  thought  at  last  of  something  that 
will  make  the  ears  of  the  world  tingle  —  " 

He  leaned  forward  and  whispered  into  the  ear  of 
Theresa  von  Lynar  the  terrible  death  he  had  prepared 
for  her  only  son.  She  nodded  calmly  as  she  listened, 
but  a  wonderful  joy  lit  up  the  woman's  face. 

"  I  am  glad  I  came  hither,"  she  murmured  j  "  it  is 
worth  it  all." 

Prince  Ivan  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  pressed 
it  fondly. 

"  And  you  shall  be  gladder  yet,"  he  said,  "  my  Lady 
Theresa.  I  have  something  to  say.  I  had  not  thought 
that  there  lived  in  the  world  anv  woman  so  like-minded, 
even  as  I  knew  not  that  there  lived  any  woman  so  beau- 
tiful. Together  you  and  I  might  rule  the  world.  Shal'. 
it  be  together  ?  " 

"But,  Prince  Ivan,"  she  interposed  quickly,  but  still 
smiling,  "  what  is  this  ?  I  thought  you  were  set  on 
wedding  the  Princess  Margaret.  You  were  to  make 
her  first  widow   and  then   wife." 

"  Theresa,"  he  said,  looking  amorously  up  at  her,  "  I 
wed  for  a  kingdom.  But  I  marry  the  woman  who  is 
my  mate.  It  is  our  custom.  I  must  give  the  left  hand, 
it  is  true,  but  with  it  the  heart,  my  Theresa  !  " 

He  was  on  his  knees  before  her  now,  still  clasping  her 
hand. 

"  You  consent  ?  "  he  said,  with  triumph  already  in 
his  tone. 

"  I  do  not  say  you  nay  !  "   she  answered,  with  a  sigh. 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  rose  to  his  feet.  He  would 
have  taken  her  in  his  arms,  but  a  noise  in  the  pavilion 
disturbed  him.  He  went  quickly  to  the  curtain  and 
peeped  through. 

4t8 


The  Margraf's  Powder  Chests 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  "  only  the  men  come  to 
fetch  the  powder  for  the  Margraf's  cannon.  But  the 
night  speeds  apace.      In  an  hour  we  assault." 

With  an  eager  look  on  his  face  he  came  nearer  to 
her. 

"  Theresa,"  he  said,  "  a  soldier's  wooing  must  needs 
be  brisk  and  speedy.  Yours  and  mine  yet  swifter. 
Our  revenge  beckons  us.  Do  you  abide  here  till  I 
return  —  with  those  good  friends  whose  names  we  have 
mentioned.  But  now,  ere  I  go  forth,  pledge  me  your 
love.  This  is  our  true  betrothal.  Say,  '  I  love  you, 
Ivan  ! '  that  I  may  keep  it  in  my  heart  till  my  return  !  " 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms,  but  Theresa 
turned  quickly,  finger  on  lip.  She  looked  anxiously 
towards  the  back  of  the  tent  where  lay  the  dead  prince. 
"  Hush  !    I  hear  something  !  "  she  said. 

Then  she  smiled  upon  him  —  a  sudden  radiance  like 
sunshine  through  rain  clouds. 

"Come  with  me —  I  am  afraid  of  the  dark  !  "  she 
said,  almost  like  a  child.  For  great  is  the  guile  of 
woman  when  her  all  is  at  stake. 

Theresa  von  Lynar  opened  the  latch  of  a  horn  lan- 
tern which  dangled  at  a  pole  and  took  the  candle  in  her 
left.  She  gave  her  right  hand  with  a  ceitain  gesture  of 
surrender  to  Prince  Ivan. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said,  and  led  him  within  the  inner 
pavilion.  A  dim  light  sifted  through  the  open  flap  bv 
which  the  men  had  gone  out  with  their  load  of  powder. 
Day  was  breaking  and  a  broad  crimson  bar  lay  across 
the  path  of  the  yet  unrisen  sun.  Theresa  and  Prince 
Ivan  stood  beside  the  dead.  He  had  been  roughly 
thrown  down  on  the  pile  of  rough  boxes  which  con- 
tained the  powder  manufactured  by  the  Margraf's  al- 
chemysts  according  to  the  famous   receipt  of  Bartholdus 

4T9 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Schwartz.  The  lid  of  the  largest  chest  stood  open,  as 
if  the  men  were  returning  for  yet  another  burden. 

"  Quick  !  "  she  said,  "  here  in  the  presence  of  the 
dead,  I  will  whisper  it  here,  here  and  not  elsewhere." 

She  brought  him  round  with  the  gentle  compulsion 
of  her  hand  till  he  stood  in  a  little  angle  where  the  red 
light  of  the  dawn  shone  on  his  dark,  handsome  face. 
Then  she  put  an  arm  strong  as  a  wrestler's  about  him, 
pinioning  him  where  he  stood.  Yet  the  gracious  smile 
on  the  woman's  lips  held  him  acquiescent  and  content. 

She  bent  her  head. 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  "  this  have  I  never  done  for  any 
man  —  no,  not  so  much  as  this  !  And  for  jou  will  I 
do  much  more.  Prince  Ivan,  you  speak  true — death 
alone  must  part  you  and  me.  You  ask  me  for  a  love 
ptedge.  I  will  give  it.  Ivan  of  Muscovy,  you  have 
plotted  death  and  torture  —  the  death  of  the  innocent. 
Listen  !  I  am  the  wife  of  Henry  of  Kernsberg,  the 
mother  of  the  lad  Maurice  von  Lynar  whom  ye  would 
slay  by  horrid  devices.  Prince,  truly  you  and  I  shall 
die  together  —  and  the  time  is  now  !  " 

Vehemently  for  his  life  struggled  Prince  Ivan,  twist- 
ing like  a  serpent,  and  crying,  "  Help  !  Help  !  Treach- 
ery !  Witch,  let  me  go,  or  I  will  stab  you  where  you 
stand."  Once  his  hand  touched  his  dagger.  But 
before  he  could  draw  it  there  came  a  sound  of  rushing 
feet.  The  forms  of  many  men  stumbling  up  out  of  the 
gleaming  blood-red  of  the  dawn. 

Then  Theresa  von  Lynar  laughed  aloud  as  she  held 
him  in  her  grasp. 

"The  password.  Prince  —  do  not  forget  the  pass- 
word !  You  will  need  it  to-night.  I,  Theresa,  have 
not  forgotten.     It  is  '  Henry  the  Lion  !  '     '  Remember  !  '  " 

And  Theresa  dropped  the  naked  candle  she  had  been 

420 


The  Margraf's  Powder  Chests 

holding   aloft  into   the  great  chest  of  dull  black  grains 
which  stood  open  by  her  side. 

•  •••••• 

And  after  that  it  mattered  little  that  at  the  same  moment 
beyond  the  Alia  the  trumpets  of  Hugo,  Prince  of  Plas- 
senburg,  blew  their  first  blast. 


CHAPTER   LIII 

THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CHURCH  VISIBLE 

"  QO,"  said  Pope  Sixtus,  amicably,  "your  brother  was 

^  killed  by  the  great  explosion  of  Friar  Roger's 
powder  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy  !  Truly,  as  I  have 
often  said,  God  is  not  with  the  Greek  Church.  They 
are  schismatics  !  " 

He  was  a  little  bored  with  this  young  man  from  the 
North,  and  began  to  remember  the  various  distractions 
which  were  waiting  in  his  own  private  wing  of  the 
Vatican.  Still,  the  Church  needed  such  young  war-gods 
as  this  Prince  Conrad.  There  were  signs,  too,  that  in 
a  little  she  might  need  them  even  more. 

The  Pope's  mind  travelled  fast.  He  had  a  way  of 
murmuring  broken  sentences  to  himself  which  to  his 
intimates  showed  how  far  his  thoughts  had  wandered. 

It  was  the  Vatican  gardens  in  the  month  of  April. 
Holy  Week  was  passed,  and  the  mind  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ  dwelt  contentedly  upon  the  great  gifts  and  offer- 
ings which  had  flowed  into  his  treasury.  Conrad  could 
not  have  arrived  more  opportunely.  Beneath,  the  eye 
travelled  over  the  hundred  churches  of  Rome,  and  the 
red  roofs  of  her  palaces  —  to  the  Tiber  no  longer  tawnv, 
but  well-nigh  as  blue  as  the  Alia  itself;  then  further  still 
to  the  grey  Campagna  and  the  blue  Albaa  Hills.  But 
the  Pope's  eye  was  directed  to  something  nearer  at 
hand. 

42: 


The  Head  of  the  Church  Visible 

From  the  elevated  platform  garden  where  they  sat  in  a 
bower  sipping  their  after-dinner  wine.  Beyond  answer- 
ing questions  Conrad  said  little.  He  was  too  greatly 
astonished.  He  had  expected  a  saint,  and  he  had  found 
himself  talking  politics  and  scandal  with  an  Italian  Prince. 
The  Holy  Father's  face  was  placid.  His  lips  moved. 
Now  and  then  a  word  or  two  escaped  him.  Yet  he 
seemed   to  be  listening  to  something  else. 

That  which  he  looked  at  was  an  excavation  over 
•which  thousands  of  men  crawled,  thick  as  ants  about  a 
mound  when  you  thrust  your  stick  among  their  piled 
pine-needles  on  Isle  Rugen.  Already  at  more  than  one 
point  massive  walls  began  to  rise.  Architects  with 
parchment  rolls  in  their  hands  went  to  and  fro  talking 
to  overseers  and  foremen.  These  were  clad  in  black 
cloaks  reaching  below  the  waist,  which  made  inky  blots 
on  the  white  earth  glare,  and  contrasted  with  the  striped 
blouses  of  the  overseers  and  the  naked  bodies  and  red 
loin  cloths  of  the  workmen. 

Conrad  blessed  his  former  sojourns  in  Italy  which 
had  enabled  him  to  follow  the  fast-running  river  of  the 
Pontiff's  half-unconscious  meditation,  which  was  couched 
not  in  crabbed  monkish  Latin,  but  in  the  free  Italic, 
to  which  as  a  bov  the  Head  of  the  Church  had  been 
accustomed. 

"  So  your  brother  is  dead  !  —  (Yes,  yes,  he  told  me 
before).  And  a  blessing  of  God,  too.  I  never  liked 
my  brothers.  Nephews  and  nieces  are  better,  so  be 
they  are  handsome.  What,  you  have  none  ?  Then  you 
are  the  heir  to  the  kingdom — you  must  marry  —  you 
must  marry  !  " 

Conrad  suddenly  flushed  fiery  red. 

"  Holy  Father,"  he  said  nervously,  his  eyes  on  the 
Alban    Hills,    "  it    was    concerning    this    that  I    made 

423 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

pilgrimage  to  R-ome,  —  that  I  might  consult  your 
Holiness  ! " 

The  pontiff"  nodded  amicably  and  looked  about  him. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  in  a  creeper-enclosed 
arbour  similar  to  that  in  which  they  sat,  the  Pope's 
personal  attendants  congregated.  These  were  mostly 
gay  young  men  in  parti-coloured  raiment,  who  jested  and 
laughed  without  much  regard  for  appearances,  or  at  all 
fearing  the  displeasure  of  the  Church's  Head.  As  Con- 
rad looked,  one  of  them  stood  up  and  tossed  over  the 
wall  a  delicately  folded  missive,  winged  like  a  dart  and 
tied  with  a  riband  of  fluttering  blue.  Then,  the  moment 
afterwards,  from  beneath  came  the  sound  of  girlish 
laughter,  whereat  all  the  young  men,  save  one,  craned 
their  necks  over  the  wall  and  shouted  jests  down  to  the 
unseen  ladies  on  the  balcony  beneath. 

All  save  one  —  and  he  a  tall,  stern-faced,  dark  young 
man  in  a  plain  black  soutane,  walked  up  and  down  in 
the  sun,  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  and  his  hands 
knotting  themselves  behind  his  back.  The  fingers  were 
twisting  nervously,  and  he  pursed  his  lips  in  meditation. 
He  did  not  waste  even  one  contemptuous  glance  on  the 
riotous  crew  in  the  arbour. 

"Aha  —  you  came  to  consult  me  about  your  mar- 
riage," chuckled  the  Holy  Father.  "  Well,  what  have 
you  been  doing  ?  Young  blood  —  young  blood  !  Well, 
once  I  was  young  myself.  But  young  blood  must  pay. 
I  am  your  father  confessor.  Now  proceed.  (This  may 
be  useful  —  better,  better,  better.)" 

And  with  a  wholly  dilFerent  air  of  interest  the  Pope 
poured  himself  a  glass  of  the  rich  wine  and  leaned  back, 
contemplating  the  young  man  with  a  sort  of  paternal 
kindliness.  The  thought  that  he  had  certain  peccadillos 
to  confess  was  a  relish  to  the  rich   Sicilian  vintage,  and 

424 


The  Head  of  the  Church  Visible 

created,  as  it  were,  a  common  interest  between  them. 
For  the  first  time  Pope  Sixtus  felt  thoroughly  at  ease 
with  his  guest. 

"  I  have,  indeed,  much  to  confess.  Holy  Father, 
much  that  I  could   not  pour  into  any  ears  but  thine." 

"Yes  —  yes  —  I  am  all  attention,"  murmured  the 
Pontiff,  his  ears  pricking  and  twitching  with  anticipation, 
and  his  likeness  to  a  goat  coming  out  in  his  face.  "Go 
on  !  Go  on,  my  son.  Confession  is  the  breathing 
health  of  the  soul !  (If  this  young  man  can  tell  me 
aught  I  do  not  know,  by  Peter,  I  will  make  him  my 
private  chaplain  !  )  " 

Then  Conrad  summoned  up  all  his  courage  and  put 
his  soul's  sickness  into  the  sentence  which  he  had  been 
conning  all  the  way  from  the  city  of  Courtland. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  very  low,  his  head  bent  down, 
*'  I,  who  am  a  priest,  have  loved  the  Lady  Joan,  my 
brother's  wife  !  " 

"  Ha,"  said  Sixtus,  pursing  his  lips,  "  that  is  bad  — 
very  bad.  (Bones  of  Saint  Anthony  !  I  did  not  think 
he  had  the  spirit!)  Penance  must  be  done — penance 
and  payment !  But  hath  the  matter  been  secret  ?  There 
has,  I  hope,  been  no  open  scandal ;  and  of  course  it 
cannot  continue  now  that  your  brother  is  dead.  While 
he  was  alive  all  was  well;  but  dead  —  oh,  that  is  dif- 
ferent! You  have  no  cloak  for  your  sin!  Such  open 
sores  do  the  Church  much  harm  !  I  have  always 
avoided  such  myself!" 

The  young  man  listened  with  a  swiftly  lowering  brow. 

"  Holy  Father,"  he  said  ;  "  I  think  you  mistake  me. 
I  spoke  not  of  sin  committed.  The  Princess  Joan  is 
pure  as  an  angel,  unstained  by  evil  or  the  thought  of  it ! 
She  sits  above  the  reach  of  scandalous  tongues  !  " 

^"  Humph  —  what,  then,  is   the   man   talking  about? 

425 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

Some  cold  northern  snowdrift  !  Strange,  strange !  I 
thought  he  had  been  a  lad  of  spirit  !  ") 

But  aloud  Sixtus  said,  with  a  surprised  accent,  "  Then 
why  do  you  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  Sire,  I  am  a  priest,  and  even  the  thought  of  love  is 
sin  !  " 

"  Tut-tut ;  you  are  a  prince-cardinal.  In  Rome  that 
is  a  very  different  thing  !  " 

He  turned  half  round  in  his  seat  and  looked  with  a 
certain  indulgent  fondness  upon  the  group  of  gay  young 
men  who  were  conducting  a  battle  of  flowers  with  the 
laughing  girls  beneath  them.  Two  of  them  had  laid 
hold  of  another  by  the  legs  and  were  holding  him  over 
the  trellised  flowers  that  he  might  kiss  a  girl  whom  her 
companions  were  elevating  from  below  for  a  like  pur- 
pose. As  their  young  lips  met,  the  Pontiff  slapped  his 
purple  silk  on  his  thigh  and  laughed  aloud. 

"  Ah,  rascals,  merry  rascals  !  "  (here  he  sighed). 
"  What  it  is  to  be  young  !  Take  an  old  man's  advice, 
Live  while  you  are  young.  Yes,  live  and  leave  pen- 
ance, for  old  age  is  sufficient  penance  in  Itself.  (Tut  — 
what  am  I  saying  ?  Let  his  pocket  do  penance  !  )  He 
who  kissed  was  my  nephew  Girolamo,  ever  the  flower 
of  the  flock,  my  dear  Girolamo.  I  think  you  said. 
Prince  Conrad,  that  you  were  a  cardinal.  Well,  most 
of  these  young  men  are  cardinals  (or  will  be,  so  soon  as 
I  can  get  the  money  to  set  them  up.  They  spend  too 
much  money,  the  rascals)." 

"  These  are  cardinals  ?  And  priests  ?  "  queried  Con- 
rad, vastly  astonished. 

The  Holy  Father  nodded  and  took  another  sip  of  the 
perfumed  Sicilian. 

"To  be  a  cardinal  is  nothing,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  It 
is  a  step —  nothing  more.     The  high  road    of  advance- 

426 


The  Head  of  the  Church  Visible 

mert,  the  spirit  of  the  time.  When  I  have  princedoms 
for  taem  all,  why,  they  must  marry  and  settle  —  raise  dy- 
nasties, found  princely  houses.  So  it  shall  be  with  you,  son 
Conrad.  Your  brother  was  alive.  Prince  of  Courtlanxi, 
married  to  this  fair  lady.  (What  was  her  name  ^  Yes, 
yes,  Joanna.)  You,  a  younger  son,  must  be  provided 
for,  the  Church  supported.  Therefore  you  received  that 
which  was  the  hereditary  right  of  your  family,  the  usual 
payments  to  Holy  Church  being  made.  You  were 
Archbishop,  Cardinal,  Prince  of  the  Church.  In  time 
you  would  have  been  Elector  of  the  Empire  and  my 
assessor  at  the  Imperial  Diet.  That  was  your  course. 
What  harm  then,  that  you  should  make  love  to  your 
brother's  wife  ?  Natural  —  perfectly  natural.  Fortu- 
nate, indeed,  that  you  had  a  brother  so  complaisant  —  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Conrad,  half  rising  from  his  seat.  "  I 
have  already  had  the  honour  of  informing  you —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  forgot  —  pardon  an  old  man.  (Ah,  the 
rascal,  would  he  .?  Served  him  right !  Ha,  ha,  well 
smitten  —  a  good  girl  !  )  " 

Another  had  tried  the  trick  of  being  held  over  the 
balcony,  but  this  time  the  maiden  below  was  coy,  and, 
instead  of  a  kiss,  the  youth  had  received  only  a  sound 
smack  on  the  cheek  fairly  struck  with  the  palm  of  a 
willing  hand. 

"Yes,  I  remember.  It  was  but  a  sin  of  the  soul. 
(Stupid  fellow  !  stupid  fellow !  Girolamo  is  a  true 
Delia  Rovere.  He  would  not  have  been  served  so.) 
Yes,  a  sin  of  the  soul.  And  now  you  wish  to  marry  ? 
Well,  I  will  receive  back  your  hat.  I  will  annul  your 
orders  —  the  usual  payments  being  made  to  Holy 
Church.  I  have  so  many  expenses — my  building,  the 
decorations  of  my  chapel,  these  young  rascals  —  ah,  little 
do  you  know  the  difficulties  of  a   Pope.      But  whom   do 

427 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

you  wish  to  marry  ?  What,  your  brother's  widow  ?  A\ 
that  is  bad  —  why  could  you  not  be  content  —  ? 
Pardon,  your  pardon,  my  mind  is  again  wandering. 

"Tsut  —  tsut  —  this  is  sad  business,  a  matter  in- 
finitely more  difficult,  forbidden  by  the  Church.  'SV^hat  ? 
they  parted  at  the  church  door  ?  A  wench  of  spirit,  I 
declare.  I  doubt  not  like  that  one  v/ho  smote  Pietro 
just  now.  I  wonder  not  at  you,  save  at  your  modera- 
tion—  that  is,  if  you  speak  the  truth." 

"  I  do  speak  the  truth  !  "  said  Conrad,  with  Northern 
directness,  beginning  to  flush  again. 

"Gently  —  gently,"  said  Sixtus ;  "there  are  many 
minutes  In  a  year,  many  people  make  a  world.  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  like  you  before.  Be  patient,  then, 
with  me.  I  am  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  my  time.  It 
will  be  difficult,  this  marriage  —  difficult,  but  not  impos- 
sible.     Peter's  coffers  are  very  empty,  my  son." 

The  Pontiff  paused  to  give  Conrad  time  to  speak. 

"  I  will  pay  into  the  treasury  of  the  Holy  Father  on 
the  day  of  my  marriage  a  hundred  thousand  ducats,"  said 
Conrad,  blushing  deeply.      It  seemed  like  bribing  God. 

The  Vicegerent  of  Christ  stretched  out  a  smooth, 
white  hand,  and  his  smile  was  almost  as  gracious  as 
when  he  turned  it  upon  his  nephew  Girolamo. 

"  Spoken  like  a  true  prince,"  he  cried,  "  a  son  of  the 
Church  indeed.  Her  works  —  the  propagation  of  the 
Faith,  the  Holy  Office  —  these  shall  benefit  by  your 
generosity." 

He  turned  about  again  and  beckoned  to  the  tall  young 
man  in  the  black  soutane. 

"  Giuliano,  come  hither  !  "  he  cried,  and  as  he  came 
he  explained  in  his  low  tones,  "  My  nephew,  a  dull  dog, 
but  will  be  great.  He  choked  a  ruffian  who  attacked 
him  on  the  street ;   so,  one  day,  he  will  choke  this  Italy 

428 


The  Head  of  the  Church  Visible 

between  his  hinds.  He  will  sit  in  this  chair.  Ah, 
there  is  one  thing  that  I  am  thankful  for,  and  it  is  that  I 
shall  be  dead  when  our  Julian  is  Pope.  I  know  not 
where  I  shall  be  —  but  anything  were  preferable  to 
Rome  under  Julian  —  purgatory  or — .  Yes,  my  dear 
nephew,  Prince  Conrad  of  Courtland  !  You  are  to  ga 
and  prepare  documents  concerning  this  noble  prince.  I 
will  instruct  you  as  to  their  nature  presently.  Await 
me  in  the  hither  library." 

The  young  man  had  been  looking  steadily  at  Conrad 
while  his  uncle  was  speaking.  It  was  a  firm  and  manly 
look,  but  there  was  cruelty  lurking  in  the  curve  of  the 
upper  lip.  Giuliano  della  Rovere  looked  more  conchtUere 
than  priest.  Nevertheless,  without  a  word  he  bowed 
and  retired. 

When  he  was  gone  the  Pope  sat  a  moment  absorbed 
in  thought. 

"  I  will  send  him  to  Courtland  with  you.  (Yes,  yes, 
he  is  staunch  and  to  be  trusted  with  money.)  He  will 
marry  you  and  bring  back  the — the  —  benefaction. 
Your  hand,  my  son.  I  am  an  old  man  and  need  help. 
May  you  be  happy  !  Live  well  and  honour  Holy 
Church.  Be  not  too  nice.  The  commons  like  not  a 
precisian.  And,  besides,  you  cannot  live  your  youth 
over.  Girolamo  !  Girolamo  !  Where  is  that  rascal  ? 
Ah,  there  you  are.  I  saw  you  kiss  yonder  pretty  minx  ! 
Shame,  sir,  shame  !  You  shall  do  penance  —  I  myself 
will  prescribe  it.  What  kept  you  so  long  when  I  called 
you  i*     Some  fresh  rascality,  I  will  wager  !  " 

"  No,  my  father,"  said  Girolamo  readily.  "  I  went 
to  the  dungeons  of  the  Holy  Office  to  see  if  they  had 
finished  with  that  ranting  philosopher  who  stirred  up  the 
people  yesterday." 

"  Well,  and  have  they  ?  "  asked  the  Pontiff. 

^-9 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

"  Yes,  ihe  fellow  has  confessed  that  six  thousanJ 
pieces  are  hidden  under  the  hearthstone  of  his  country 
house.  So  all  is  well  ended.  He  is  to  be  burned  to- 
morrow." 

"  Good  —  good.  So  perish  all  Jews,  heretics,  and 
enemies  of  Holy  Church  !  "  said  Pope  Sixtus  piously. 
*'  And  now  I  bid  you  adieu,  son  Conrad  !  You  set  out 
to-morrow.  The  papers  shall  be  ready.  A  hundred 
thousand  ducats,  I  think  you  said  —  afid  the  fees  for 
secularisation.  These  will  amount  to  fifty  thousand 
more.      Is  it  not  so,  my  son  ?  " 

Conrad  bowed  assent.  He  thought  it  was  well  that 
Courtland  was  rich  and  his  brother  Louis  a  careful  man. 

"  Good  —  good,  my  son.  You  are  a  true  standard- 
bearer  of  the  Church.  I  will  throw  in  a  perpetua' 
indulgence  —  with  blanks  which  you  may  fill  up.  No, 
do  not  refuse  !  You  think  that  you  will  never  want  it 
because  you  do  not  now.      But  you  may  —  you  may  !  " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  —  the  blessed  ring  of  Saint 
Peter  shone  upon  it.      Conrad  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  Pater  Domini  nostrl  Jesu  Christi  benedicat  te  in  omn'i 
benedictione  spirituali.     Amen  !  " 


430 


EPILOGUE   OF   EXPLICATION 

IT  was  the  morning  of  a  white  day.  The  princely 
banner  flew  from  every  tower  in  Castle  Kernsberg, 
for  that  day  it  was  to  lose  a  duchess  and  gain  a  duke. 
It  was  Joan's  second  wedding-day  —  the  day  of  her  first 
marriage. 

Never  had  the  little  hill  town  seen  so  brave  a  gathering 
since  the  Northern  princes  laid  Henry  the  Lion  in  his 
grave.  In  the  great  vault  where  he  slept  there  was  a 
new  tomb,  a  plain  marble  slab  with  the  inscription  — 

"THERESA,    WIFE    OF    HENRY, 
DUKE   OF    KERNSBERG   AND    HOHENSTEIN." 

And  underneath,  and  in  Latin,  the  words  — 

''AFTER   THE   TEMPEST,    PEACE  !  " 

For,  strangely  enough,  by  the  wonder  of  Providence  oi 
some  freak  of  the  exploding  powder,  they  had  found 
Theresa  fallen  where  she  had  stood,  blackened  but  scarce 
marred  in  face  or  figure.  So  from  that  burnt-out  hell 
they  had  brought  her  here  that  at  the  last  she  might 
rest  near  the   man   whom    her  soul    loved. 

And  as  they  moved  away  and  left  her,  Johannes 
Rode,  the  scholar,  murmured  the  words,  "  Post  tempesta- 
tern  tranquiUitas  !  " 

Prince  Conrad  heard  him,  and  he  it  was  who  had 
them  engraven  on  her  tomb. 

43  5 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

But  on  this  morning  of  gladness  only  Joan  thought 
of  the  dead  woman. 

"  To-day  I  will  do  the  thing  she  wished,"  the  Duchess 
thought,  as  she  looked  from  the  window  tov/ards  her 
father's  tomb,  "  She  would  take  nothing  for  herself, 
yet  shall  her  son  sit  in  my  place  and  rule  where  his 
father  ruled.     I   am   glad  !  " 

Here  she  blushed. 

"  Yet,  why  should  I  vaunt  ?  It  is  no  sacrifice,  for  I 
shall  be  —  what  I  would  rather  a  thousand  times  be. 
Small  thanks,  then,  that  I  give  freely  what  is  worth 
nothing  to  me  now  !  " 

And  with  the  arm  that  had  wielded  a  sword  so  often 
and  so  valiantly  Joan  the  bride  went  on  arraying  her 
hair  and  making  her  beautiful  for  the  eves  of  her  lord. 

"  My  lord  !  "  she  said,  and  again  with  a  different 
accent,  '•'■  My  lord  !  " 

And  when  these  her  living  eyes  met  those  others  in 
the  Venice  mirror,  lo  !  either  pair  was  smiling  a  new 
smile. 

•  •••••• 

Meantime,  beneath  in  her  chamber,  the  Princess 
Margaret  was  making  her  husband's  life  a  burden  to 
him,  or  rather,  first  quarrelling  with  him  and  the  next 
moment  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck  in  a  passion 
of  remorse.  For  that  is  the  wont  of  dainty  Princess 
Margarets  who  are  sick  and  know  not  yet  what  aileth 
them. 

"  Maurice,"  she  was  saying,  "  is  it  not  enough  to 
make  me  throw  me  over  the  battlements  that  they 
should  all  forsake  me,  on  this  day  of  all  others,  when 
you  are  to  be  made  a  Duke  in  the  presence  of  the  Pope's 
Legate  and  the  Emperor's  Alter  —  what  is  it  ? — Alter 
ego?     What  a  silly  word  !      And  you  might  have  told  it 

4.12 


Epilogue  of  Explication 

to  me  prettily  and  without  laughing.  Yes,  you  did,  and 
you  also  are  in  league  against  me.  And  I  will  not  go 
to  the  wedding  ;  no,  not  if  Joan  were  to  beg  of  me  on 
my  knees  !  I  will  not  have  any  of  these  minxes  to  do 
my  hair.  Nay,  do  not  you  touch  it.  I  am  nobody,  it 
seems,  and  Joan  everything.  Joan  —  Joan!  It  is 
Joan  this  and  Joan  that !     Tush,  I  am  sick  of  Joans. 

''She  gives  up  the  duchy  to  us  —  well,  that  is  no 
great  gift.  She  is  getting  Courtland  for  it,  and  my 
brother.  Even  he  will  not  love  me  any  more.  He  is 
like  the  rest.  He  eats,  drinks,  sleeps,  wakes,  talks 
Joan.  He  is  silent,  and  thinks  Joan.  So,  I  believe,  do 
you.  You  are  only  sorry  that  she  did  not  love  you 
best ! 

"  Well,  if  you  are  her  brother,  I  do  not  care.  Who 
was  speaking  about  marrying  her  :  And,  at  any  rate, 
you  did  not  know  she  was  your  sister.  You  might  very 
well  have  loved  her.  And  I  believe  you  did.  You  do 
not  love  me,  at  all  events.      That  I  do  know  ! 

"  No,  I  will  not  '  hush,'  nor  will  I  come  upon  youf 
knee  and  be  petted.  I  am  not  a  baby  !  '  JVhat  is  the 
matter  betwixt  me  and  the  maidens  ?  '  If  you  had  let 
me  explain  I  would  have  told  you  long  ago.  But  I 
never  get  speaking  a  word.  I  am  not  crying,  and  I 
shall  cry  if  I  choose.  Oh,  yes,  I  will  tell  you,  Duke 
Maurice,  if  you  care  to  hear,  why  I  am  angry  with  the 
maids.  Well,  then,  first  it  was  that  Anna  Pappenheim. 
She  tugged  my  hair  out  by  the  roots  in  handfuls,  and 
when  I  scolded  her  I  saw  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
I  asked  her  why,  and  for  long  she  would  not  tell  me. 
Then  all  at  once  she  acknowledged  that  she  had  prom- 
ised to  marry  that  great  overgrown  chimney-pot,  Captain 
Boris,  and  must  hie  her  to  Plassenburg,  if  I  pleased.  I 
did  not  please,  and  when  I  said  that  surely  Martha  was 
23  433 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

not  so  foolish  thus  to  throw  herself  away,  the  wretched 
Marthe  came  bawling  and  wringing  hands,  and  owned 
that  she  was  in  like  case  with  Boris. 

"  So  I  sent  them  out  very  quickly,  being  justly  angry 
that  they  should  thus  desert  me.  And  I  called  for 
Thora  of  Bornholm,  and  began  easing  my  mind  con- 
cerning their  ingratitude,  when  the  Swede  said  calmly, 
*  I  fear  me,  madam,  I  am  not  able  to  find  any  fault  with 
Anna  and  Marthe.  For  I  am  even  as  they,  or  worse. 
I  have  been  married  for  over  six  months.' 

"  '  And  to  whom  ?  '  I  cried ;  '  tell  me,  and  he  shall 
hang  as  surelv  as  I  am  a  Princess  of  Courtland.'  For  I 
was  disturbed. 

" '  To-day  your  Highness  is  Duchess  of  Kernsberg,' 
said  the  minx,  as  calmly  as  if  at  sacrament.  '  My  hus- 
band's name  is  Johannes  Rode  ! ' 

"  And  when  I  have  told  you,  instead  of  being  sorry 
for  me,  you  do  nothing  but  laugh.  I  will  indeed  fling 
me  over  the  window  !  " 

And  the  fiery  little  Princess  ran  to  the  window  and 
pretended  to  cast  herself  headlong.  But  her  husband  did 
not  move.  He  stood  leaning  against  the  mantelshelf 
and  smiling  at  her  quietly  and  lovingly. 

Hearing  no  rush  of  anxious  feet,  and  finding  no  re- 
straining arm  cast  about  her,  Margaret  turned  and  with 
fresh  fire  in  her  gesture  stamped  her  foot  at  Maurice. 

"  That  just  proves  it !  Little  do  you  care  whether 
or  no  I  kill  myself.  You  wish  I  would,  so  that  you 
might  marry  somebody   else.      You  dare  not  deny  it  !  " 

Maurice  knew  better  than  to  deny,  it,  nor  did  he  move 
till  the  Princess  cast  herself  down  on  the  coverlet  and 
sobbed  her  heart  out,  with  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  her 
hair  spraying  in  linked  tendrils  about  her  white  neck  and 
shoulders.     Then  he  went  gently   to  her  and   laid   his 

434 


Epilogue  of  Explication 

hand  on  her  head,  regardless  of  the  petulant  shrug  of  hei 
shoulders  as  he  touched  her.  He  gathered  her  up  and 
sat  down    with  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Little  one,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  be  good. 
This  is  a  great  and  a  glad  day.  To-day  my  sister  finds 
the  happmess  that  you  and  I  have  found.  To-day  I  am 
to  sit  in  my  father's  seat  and  have  my  own  name  among 
men.  You  must  help  me.  Will  you,  little  one  .?  For 
once  let  me  be  your  tire-woman,  I  have  often  done  my 
own  tiring  when,  in  old  days,  I  dared  death  in  women's 
garments  for  your  sweet  sake.  Dearest,  do  not  hurt 
my  heart  any   more,  but   help   me." 

His  wife  smiled  suddenly  through  her  tears,  and  cast 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  I  am  bad  —  bad  —  bad,"  she  cried  vehemently 
*'  It  were  no  wonder  if  you  did   not  love  me.      But  do 
keep  loving  me.      I  should  die  else.      I  will  be  better,  I 
will  —  I  will !      I  do  not  know  why  I  should  be  so  bad. 
Sometimes  I  cannot  help  it." 

But  Maurice  kissed  her  and  smiled  as  if  he  knew. 

"  We  will  live  like  plain  and  honest  country  folk, 
you  and  I,"  he  said.  "  Let  Anna  and  Martha  follow 
their  war-captains.  Thora  at  least  will  remain  with  us, 
and  we  will  make  Johannes  Rode  our  almoner  and  court 
poet.     Now  smile  at  me,  little  one  !    Ah,  that  is  better." 

In  Margaret's  April  eyes  the  sun  shone  out  again, 
and  she  clung  lovingly  to  her  husband  a  moment  before 
she  would  let  him  go. 

Then  she  thrust  him  a  little  away  from  her,  that  she 
might  see  his  face,  as  she  asked  the  question  of  all  loving 
and  tempestuous  Princess  Margarets,  "  Are  you  sure  you 
love  me  just  the  same,  even  when  I  am  naughty  ?  " 

Maurice  was  sure. 

And   taking  his    face  between  her  hands  in  a  fierce 

435 


Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand 

little  clutch,  she  asked  a   further  assurance.     "  Are  you 
quite,  quite  sure,"  she  said. 

And  Maurice  was  quite,  quite  sure. 

Not  in  a  vast  and  solemn  cathedral  was  Joan  married, 
but  in  the  old  church  of  Kernsberg,  which  had  so  often 
raised  the  protest  of  the  Church  against  the  exactions  of 
her  ancestors.  The  bridal  escort  was  of  her  own  tried 
soldiery,  now  to  be  hers  no  more,  and  all  of  them  a  little 
sad  for  that.  Hugo  and  Heleneof  Plassenburg  had  come 
—  Hugo  because  he  was  the  representative  of  the  Em- 
peror, and  Helene  because  she  was  a  sweet  and  loving 
woman  who  delighted  to  rejoice  in  another's  joy. 

With  these  also  arrived,  and  with  these  was  to  depart, 
the  dark-faced,  stern  young  cardinal  of  San  Pietro  in 
Vtincoli.  He  must  have  good  escort,  he  said,  for  he 
carried  many  precious  relics  and  tokens  of  the  affection 
of  the  faithful  for  the  Church's  Head.  The  simple 
priesthood  of  Kernsberg  shrank  from  his  fiery  glances, 
and  were  glad  when  he  was  gone.  But,  save  at  the  hour 
of  bridal  itself,  lie  spent  all  his  time  with  the  treasurer 
of  the  Princedom   of  Courtland. 

When  at  last  they  came  down  the  aisle,  and  the 
sweet-voiced  choristers  sang,  and  the  white-robed 
maidens  scattered  flowers  for  their  feet  to  walk  upon, 
the  bride  found  opportunity  to  whisper  to  her  husband, 
"  I  shall  never  be  Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand  any  more  !  " 

He  smiled  back  at  her  as  they  came  out  upon  the  tears 
and  laughter  and  acclaim  of  the  many-coloured  throng 
that  filled  the  little  square. 

"  Fear  not,  beloved,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  were  very 
glad  and  proud,  "  be  Joan  to  me,  and  /  will  be  your 
Sword   Hand  !  " 


436 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS; 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE 

BY  ROBERT     NEILSON     STEPHENS 

Author  of  *^A  Gentleman  Phyzt,'*  "The  Mystery  of  Murray  Dav«a- 
port/  **  A  Continental  Dragoon/*  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  i^dwards 

An  historical  romance  of  the  18  th  century,  being  an 

account   of  the   life   of   an    American   gentleman 

adventurer  of  Jacobite  ancestry,  whose  family 

early  settled  in  the  colony  of  Pennsylvania. 

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HOPE    LORING 


BY  LILLIAN  BELL 

Author  of  "Little  Sister  to  Wilderness" 
"Love   Affairs  of   an  Old   Maid,"  Etc..  Etc. 

Illustrated    by    Frank   T.    Merrill 

The  story  is  an  interesting  one,   full  of  thrilling  and 

dramatic  situations.     It  does  for  the  American  girl 

in  fiction  what  Gibson  has  done  for  her  in  art 

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The  Sorrows  of  Satan 

By  MARIE  CORBI/IvI, 

<Author  of  "  Bardbbas, "  ''The  Soul  of  LilUh,  '* 

Eic*,  Etc, 


"A  very  powerful  piece  of  work — A  literary  phenomt 
enon,  novel  and  even  sublime." — Review  of  Reviews. 


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The  Prisoner  of  Zenda 


By  ANTHONY  HOPE. 

Author  of 

**  The  Heart  of  Princess  Osra,  ** 
•»  Phroso/'  Etc.,  Eta 


«•  A  Glorious  Story." 

^*The  story  holds  the  reader's  attention  from  first  to 

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A   GENTLEMAN   PLAYER: 

His  Adventures  on  a  Secret  IVIission  for  Queen  Elizabeth 

BY     ROBERT     NEILSON     STEPHENS 

Author  of  "The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport"    **The  Road  to 

Paris,"  **  The  Continental  Dragoon,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated   by   Frank    T.    Merrill 

"A  Gentleman  Player"  is  a  romance  of  the  Elizabethan  period. 
It  relates  the  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  falls  so  low  in  his  fortune  that  he  joins  Shakespeare's 
company  of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great 
poet. 

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THE  MYSTERY  OF 

MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

BY    ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of  **  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Df  agooa" 

**  Captain  Ravenshaw^,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  i^dwards 

The  solution  of   it  is   an   ingenious   surprise   such   as 
might    have    been    expected    from    Edgar   Allen 
Poe.       Mr.    Stephens    has    managed    the    de- 
tails of    the   story  with  remarkable  skill. 

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AN  ENEMY  TO  THE  KING 


BY    ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of    "The   Continental  Dragoon,"    "The  Road  to  Paris," 
**  Captain  Ravenshaw,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young 

An    historical    romance     of     the    sixteenth    century, 

describing  the  adventures    of   a   young  French 

nobleman  at  the  Court  of  Henry  III.,  and 

on  the  field  with  Henry  of  Navarre. 

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BARBARA  LAPP 

BY    CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 
Author  of  **  The  Forge  in  the  Forest,"  "  A  Sister  to  Evangeline/*  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Frank  Verbeck 

From  the  opening:  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts 
lures  us  on   by  his   rapt    devotion  to  the  chang- 
ing aspects   of  nature  and  by  his  keen   and 
sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character. 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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